Broken Wings
by Rosea
Summary: A downed pilot, an obsessed German intelligence officer, a British agent and a desperate rescue are all in a days work for the heroes. But when a vicious storm wrecks the camp, taking the fence, radio and half the tunnels out, a ruthless new enemy takes advantage of the chaos to lay his trap. Hogan and the boys finds themselves caught up in long standing fight between best enemies
1. Chapter 1 A Routine Mission

_Disclaimer: I don't own or make any money from my writing, and all characters herein (except for Clare, whom I am claiming as my own) belong to Bing Crosby Productions/Viacom and the heirs of the Capt. W. E. Johns estate._

_I have read a lot of really, really good Hogan's Heroes fics since I became hooked, and thought its about time I tried writing one of my own. There's no denying that the series is a comedy, but leave the canned laughter and the caricatures aside, there is a lot of drama and a huge amount of tension in each episode. One can only imagine what it would have been like to live in a constant state of fear and tension, and I hope I can emulate some of that drama while still remaining at least partially true to the essence of the series._

**Broken Wings**

**Chapter 1- A Routine Mission**

The bunk clattered, revealing the secret entrance. Kinch climbed out rubbing his eyes. He'd been woken up from a restful sleep by the beeping of the radio and still wasn't entirely awake. He was fairly sure that he had written down the message correctly, even though he'd been doing it on auto pilot.

A sleepy voice from the bunk above protested at the disturbance.

"What is it this time?" Lebeau asked, "Don't they ever sleep in London?"

"Apparently not," Kinch said, "I've got to wake the Colonel, this is code 1A urgent. Go back to sleep."

"Why bother," Lebeau muttered, "We'll all be up and about in a few minutes any way when _le Colonel_ gets up."

"What's up this time, Kinch?" another sleepy voice asked from the other side of the barracks as Carter woke from a lovely dream of fireworks.

"We'll know soon enough," Kinch said and headed for the officers quarters. He knocked once and went in, turning on the light as he did so. "Colonel Hogan, a message from London," he reported.

From his position of solitary splendour on the top bunk, Colonel Robert Hogan, USAAF, sat up. "Not again," he grumbled. "Another message from London?"

"Yes, marked code 1A," Kinch said and handed it to him.

Hogan took the current code book of his shelf and flicked to the correct page. A few moments later he threw back his blanket and slid down from the bunk. "Wake the others, we've got to move fast on this one."

"We're already awake," Newkirk said from the doorway, rubbing his stiff neck. Carter and Lebeau were behind him.

"Come in and close the door, we don't want any guards bursting in on us," Hogan said.

They did so and gathered around their commander.

"The message says a plane has been shot down about six miles from here- according to the coordinates given in the last radio transmission from the pilot," Hogan said as he quickly dressed, "We're to find the crash site, render assistance if we can and destroy the plane."

"Destroy the plane?" Newkirk inquired.

"That's what it said," Hogan answered. He looked at his watch. "I make it 2200. We've got seven and half hours to get there and back before morning roll call. Get ready, we move out in ten. Kinch, stay by the radio and keep and ear out, Carter, get some incendiaries together."

Ten minutes later four black clad figures slipped quietly through the woods surrounding the prisoner of war camp designated Stalag 13 towards the wreck of the plane. As they drew closer, Hogan heard the unmistakable sound of a chase crashing through the forest, and it was coming their way. He pulled Lebeau in to cover, Newkirk and Carter quickly following suit.

"D'you think they've found the pilot?" Newkirk asked.

Shouts of "Halt! Halt!" echoed through the woods followed by shots, all far to close for comfort.

"If the pilot comes this way, grab him before the krauts do," Hogan whispered to his men.

They weren't that lucky. There was one final crash of gun fire and cacophony of shouts, followed by relative calm. They ducked down as a patrol of soldiers went past, dragging a struggling figure still dressed in a flight suit with them. There was nothing they could do, there were too many soldiers, and they were all too heavily armed for the four men to take on. All they could do was hide and watch as the pilot was escorted from the premises.

"There goes that part of the plan," Hogan said. "Let's see if we can find his plane before the krauts do."

The plane, as it turned out, was over a mile from were the pilot was captured, tangled in the underbrush into which it had nose dived.

"That's a Lissy," Newkirk said as he looked at the mangled plane.

"A what?" Carter asked.

"A Westland Lysander," Newkirk elaborated. "Bloody useless as a combat aircraft."

"But great for clandestine operations," Hogan said. "Able to land on rough terrain and if fitted with long distance tanks, able to get from England to Germany and back again in one day. Carter, get those incendiaries in place, I want this in ashes by day break. The krauts first priority was the pilot, but you can be sure they'll be back looking for the kite."

"Why destroy it, Colonel?" Lebeau asked as he helped fit the explosives.

"Lysanders are used for dropping and picking up SOE agents among other things," Hogan explained, his eyes searching the forest for any sign of German soldiers. "It's safe to bet that whoever the pilot was, he was on his way to extract an agent. He'll be safer if the krauts don't know he was flying one of these babies, otherwise he's likely to be in for a rough time."

"Can we rescue him?" Carter asked.

"Not a hope. He's going to have to chance it," Hogan said. "All set?"

His crew nodded.

"Right, set the time for five minutes and let's get the hell out of here."

They were already some distance away when the charges went off. A fireball rose majestically into the night sky and then settled down into a steady burn. Hogan paused to watch the glow for a few moments.

"I'd call that a job well done, at least half well done," he said. He was sore that they hadn't managed to get to the pilot before the patrol. If they'd been just a few minutes faster they might have been able to save him.

"It'll be well done by the morning," Newkirk said, "No medium rare on that that bird."

Hogan gave a small, grim chuckle. He was still thinking of the pilot and hoping that the interrogators wouldn't be too hard on him. "Back to camp, we've got to report to London."

"Word just came back from London, Colonel," Kinch said several hours later after they had returned, reported, washed and changed back into uniforms.

Hogan took the message pad. "_Good job on the plane, rescue of pilot will be handled by other agents_." He slammed the pad down on the bench. "In other words, you screwed up."

"Come on, Colonel, we couldn't have gotten there any faster, and the German patrols were already in the area," Carter said.

"I know," Hogan said with a heavy sigh, "I just can't help thinking of what's going to happen to the pilot."

The five men all thought back to their own capture, interrogation and eventual transfer to Stalag 13, some by more circuitous routes than others. All of them had been through the Dulag Luft- the interrogation centre- and all of them remembered the tiny pitch black cells, the threats and in a couple of cases, the persuasive techniques used by the interrogators. Both Hogan and Newkirk had been through the wringer, Carter and Lebeau had been lucky enough to be overlooked while their friends and crew-mates had been singled out for special attention, and Kinch had been shunted off as being inferior and thus not worth the effort of questioning. That had not, however, stopped the guards from demonstrating their 'racial superiority' in the most unfriendly ways.

The pilot of the Lissy would be in for a rough time no matter what- there had been no bombing raids, or dog fights for cover, so he had to be a pilot on reconnaissance or a special mission. Once the krauts figured that out they would try their best to find out what the mission was.

"Well, here's to him, whoever he is," Hogan said. "May the fates smile kindly on him."

"Amen," Newkirk whispered.

* * *

**Authors note:** This is sort of cross over between Hogan's Heroes and the Biggles books, both are operating in the same time period, and both involve aviators, spies and secret missions. As such the two fandoms mesh beautifully. Please let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2 Storm Damage

** Chapter 2- Storm Damage**

The storm broke overhead. Thunder was as constant as an artillery barrage with flash after flash lightening keeping the night as bright as day. Rain fell in torrents turning the packed dirt of the compound to mud and wind lashed the buildings with all the fury of nature unleashed.

Lightening had already taken out the generator and the camp was in darkness, but no one in their right mind was going to attempt to go over the fence on a night like this. In the prison barracks men huddled around the stoves for warmth as chilly drafts looped through the chinks and cracks in the doors and walls, the cold fingers of air sucking warmth from their bodies and making everyone miserable. The only light came from a few candles kept in crude jam-tin lamps, the flames partially protected from the insidious wafts of air. Every so often the roar of the wind crescendoed into a great screaming wail and the prisoners would turn their eyes to the roof, wondering if the gale would tear the planking away and leave them to the mercy of elements.

To add to their misery rain dripped though numerous hole and seeped through the cracks in and around the doors and windows, soaking their few belongings. Several tried to plug the holes with rags, but there were too many holes and not enough rags. In fact the only people who were more miserable than the prisoners were the guards in their towers, forced to remain at their posts through the worst of the weather, huddled in their sodden great coats, their helmets pulled down over their eyes in a vain attempt to protect themselves from natures fury.

In Barracks 2 the regular prisoners joined the core crew in the tunnels below the camp- manning pumps to keep the water from flooding the tunnel system and ruining their base of operations.

"Newkirk, you and Olsen, check out the supports in tunnel 3!" Hogan shouted over the sound of the pumps and the storm up above. Tunnel 3 ran under the main compound, and with the rain churning the ground to mud, there was a chance of cave in.

"Right you are, sir," Newkirk called back. He collared Olsen and headed down the designated tunnel.

"Kinch, head into the lab and help Carter get things up off the floor," Hogan yelled another order.

"On it," Kinch said abruptly and was gone.

"Baker, keep going with those pumps."

"As fast as we can, sir, but we'll need another crew here soon, we're just about done in," Baker shouted back.

Hogan quickly glanced over the pump crews and found the most exhausted looking man. He nudged the man aside and took over. "Get up top, send down four replacements and try to get some rest," he ordered the young airman.

The young man nodded with weary gratitude and headed back up the ladder into the barracks. Soon four replacements had been found and the exhausted pump-men were able to take a break.

There was a rumble close by. Private Lewis staggered out of tunnel eight- the tunnel leading to the cooler, streaked with mud. Hogan dashed to his side and grabbed hold of him as he started to sag. Blood mixed with mud was dripping from his hair.

"It caved, sir," Lewis gasped.

"Is it bad?" Hogan asked, leading the injured man to a bench. Despite the pumpers best efforts keeping the sumps clear, the floor was slippery with water.

"I don't know, I dropped my lamp."

Hogan glanced around, Kinch was coming back from the lab with Carter.

"We've got everything vulnerable up high," Kinch said, "Unless the tunnels fill with water, it should be fine, if a bit damp."

"Good, get Lewis up stairs, tunnel eight has caved, I'm going to have a look."

"You shouldn't go alone," Kinch protested.

"You're right, Carter, you're with me."

"You got it, boy, er, sir," Carter said- far to cheerily for the desperate situation they found themselves in.

Kinch nodded and helped Lewis to his feet and up the ladder.

Hogan and Carter headed down the tunnel until they came to the blockage. It wasn't as bad as it could have been. The caved section was close to the cooler where the ground was not so compacted by feet and vehicles, and with any luck there wouldn't be anyone walking on it too soon. The cave in itself filled the tunnel about three quarters of the height with dirt, the rest being taken up by the shattered timbers which and failed under the weight of the saturated soil above.

"It's not so bad," Hogan said, "We'll start clearing it when the storm has passed and the tunnels dried out a bit." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, leaving a streak of mud on his forehead.

"We'll be back up and running in no time, sir," Carter said with his usual optimism, "As soon as the storm passes, we can get back to work."

"I sure hope so," Hogan said. "And lets just hope we have a couple of quiet weeks to fix it all."

"Sir, Colonel Hogan!" the shout echoed down the tunnel.

Hogan and Carter hurried back down the tunnel and into the radio room. "What is it?" Hogan asked the RCAF flight sergeant who had called them.

"Sir, the roof has come off Barracks 8," the sergeant reported. "Two men have been hurt."

"Oh great," Hogan murmured. "Carter, stay here and help with the pumps. Let's go."

Hogan and the sergeant headed upstairs. Hogan threw on a rain cape, and called for volunteers to help. Many of the men were already done in by the battle down stairs to stop the tunnels from flooding, but he still got a brace of men ready to brave the fury of the elements. Hogan steeled himself for what was to come before throwing the door open. The wind ripped the door out of his hand and slammed it against the wall, rain poured through the opening. Hogan plunged out into the storm, followed by his volunteers. They ran smack bang into five guards.

"Colonel Hogan, what do you think you are doing out of your barracks!" a familiar voice shouted. The first of the guards, swathed in a thick rain coat was none other than Kommandant Klink, out braving the weather.

"I heard the roof had come off Barracks 8, and a couple of men have been hurt," Hogan shouted back, "We're volunteering to help move them to another barracks.

"Very good, carry on!" Klink said, "And take my guards with you. Just don't think you can use this as an opportunity to escape!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Hogan replied, "There are more important things to worry about right now!"

Klink accompanied them through through complex of buildings to the stricken barracks. Sheets of roofing were still flapping in the wind and as they watched one detached itself and was ripped away by the wind, cartwheeling off into the night. Inside some of the inhabitants were trying to gather what could be salvaged while others were clearing away fallen wreckage and freeing the two trapped prisoners. Hogan leant a shoulder to the effort and helped pull the two men clear.

Klink made sure that everything was under control, and promptly disappeared back to his own quarters. Hogan raised a jaundiced eyebrow as he watched the scurrying figure battle his way back through the storm to the warmth of his house. Actually, he was surprised that the Bald Eagle had come out into the weather at all, expecting him to stay to help the rescue effort was a bit much to expect. After all, no one wanted the Iron Colonel to get rusty.

The next hour was taken up by fighting through the storm to Barracks 8, moving the eighteen uninjured men into temporary shelter and ferrying the two injured ones- one with a broken arm and two broken ribs and the other with a head injury to the infirmary. The German guards pitched in to help without waiting for requests or orders, and followed Hogan's shouted commands as readily as they would their own commander's. The wind whipped rain capes around and drove water into their eyes, soaking everyone to the bone and making any movement a struggled. The buildings channelled the howling gale rather than breaking it, and turned the wind into a whirling vortex which came from first one direction than the other.

One of the Barracks 8 boys fell in the mud, soaked to the skin and freezing cold. The mud was like glue, sucking down everything and the more he struggled against its slimy grip the harder it held him. Hogan rushed to his side and hauled him back to his feet, slipping in the ankle deep slush as he pulled the man's arm over his shoulder and almost carried him to shelter in Barracks 7.

All around him men were peeling off sodden, filthy clothing and huddling around the meagre warmth of the stove. The residents of the barracks, not at all perturbed by the influx of guests, quickly set about making warm drinks and distributing their own blankets.

The Barracks chief, Corporal Hart of the RAF, went to Hogan's side with a mug of ersatz coffee.

"Here, Colonel, you look like you need this," he said, handing it over.

Hogan took it gratefully, wrapping his frozen, filthy fingers around the warmth. "Thanks," he said. "Will you be alright with some extra guests?"

"So long as our roof doesn't come off as well, we should be able to cope," Hart said with a shrug. "My father was at the Somme during the first war. He told me that they weather like this all winter, the trenches were filled with mud and water and men could drown in it if they weren't careful. He said if you fell, you simply couldn't get up again. At least here we're out of the worst of the weather."

"Thank heaven for small mercies," Hogan replied.

"What's happening down stairs?"

Hogan glanced around, but all the German guards had headed back to their own, better built barracks. "We're going to be limited in what we can do for a few days," he said. "The clean up both up stairs and down is going to take a while." He finished the rest of the coffee and handed the mug back to Hart. "Thanks for that, I'd better get going."

"If we can do anything, let me know," Hart said.

"I will. Let's just hope that this storm blows itself out before it blows off any more roofs."


	3. Chapter 3 Picking Up The Pieces

**Chapter 3- Picking up the pieces**

The storm took the better part of two days to blow itself out completely. While the thunder and lightening had died out by morning, the rain and wind were in for the long haul. In a show of humanity Colonel Klink didn't insist on roll call, but sent his guards into the barracks to count the men there.

Hogan, and practically every other man in camp, was exhausted. Barracks 14 and Barracks 11 had lost their roofs the evening before leading to another frantic evacuation of prisoners and desperate work to try to prevent any more buildings from loosing theirs. The remaining barracks were becoming over crowded and the men were getting frustrated with the forced confinement, lack of light and heat and having to share already cramped quarters with yet more people. On top of that, two more tunnels leading to the other barracks had caved and another two were looking dicey. The pump crews were working as hard as they could with shifts going around the clock working to save the operation from permanent closure. Some of the men had complained that Stalag 13 was starting to become a forced labour camp.

"Colonel Hogan, you are filthy!" Schultz asked the second morning after another long night of rain and wind.

Hogan felt like he hadn't slept in three days, and hadn't bothered to change into clean clothing; there wasn't any point. He was looking forward to it being over. Some time soon, please. "It's raining, Schultz, hadn't you noticed?" He asked, "And rain makes mud." He glanced down conspicuously at Schultz's mud covered boots and the muddy footprints he had left on the floor.

"But why were _you_ out there?" the big sergeant asked.

"I love walking in the rain," Hogan said, "The feeling of water running through your hair..." he said dreamily, "Cool on your face and the feeling of mud squelching under foot. You just can't beat that."

"You Americans are crazy, CRAZY," Schultz said sadly, shaking his head. "Now, is everybody here?"

"Yes, Schultz, everybody is here," Hogan said. "You can go back to your nice warm barracks now while we shiver in this draughty shack."

"Please, don't make me feel any worse than I already do," Schultz said. "Now, I must tell you that a tree has fallen over the fence on the eastern side of the camp, and a section of the fence on the northern side has been damaged by flying debris. I am also to tell you that these areas will be heavily guarded until they are fixed and that anyone caught near them will be shot on sight. Patrols outside the fence have also been stepped up, just in case you get up to any monkey business."

"Thanks," Hogan said sarcastically, "It's nice to know that you're taking such good care of us. Give our regards to the old Rusty Eagle."

"Please, Colonel Hogan, do not call the Kommandant that!" Schultz said, shocked.

"If the Iron Colonel isn't rusty by now, I'm sure he will be soon enough," Hogan said and ushered Schultz out the door into the pouring rain. With Schultz gone, Hogan headed back down stairs to relieve one of the pump-men for a couple of hours.

By noon the rain had eased and by mid afternoon the clouds were gone and the sun had made an appearance. All over the camp people dragged out sodden blankets, clothes and bedding in an attempt to get a few things dry, in spite of the ankle deep mud. In the tunnels below the pump men finally got the sumps emptied and were able to open the hidden vents to the world above to start the long process of drying the tunnels.

Newkirk mournfully examined his sewing room. While he had got all the material and his equipment out of harms way, the room was damp and the clothes on the racks were musty. "How am I going to get all this dry?" he asked no one in particular, "It's not like I can just hang a Luftwaffe Majors jacket out on the line to dry."

"Just do the best you can, Newkirk," Hogan said, patting him kindly on the shoulder, "They'll get an airing next time we have to go out in them."

"Fine impression that will make," he complained, "Dressing up an SS Captain with the smell of mould coming from your uniform."

Hogan gave an understanding shrug, and went to see how Carter's lab was. Unlike the sewing room, the lab was all glass, metal and chemicals and nothing had suffered any damage. The radio, on the other hand, was a different matter.

"The radio got water damaged and we're going to need parts to fix it," Kinch said as he tinkered with the machine, "The other problem is the aerial."

"What's wrong with it?" Hogan asked.

"It isn't there any more. We're out of business until further notice."

"Hmm, and with Klink stepping up patrols out side the wire, we're not going to be able to get out to get replacements. Damn."

Hogan paced for a few minutes, deep in thought. With no way to get out of camp or to contact either London or the underground they were pretty much prisoners in reality. There was, however, one chance.

"We can get word to the Underground through Schnizter to get onto London for replacement parts for the radio," Hogan said, "He'll probably be back tomorrow to check on the dogs after this wild weather. After that it should only be a few days before London gets the parts to us. This is a set back we really don't need."

"It wouldn't matter anyway without the aerial," Kinch pointed out.

"Let's see what we can salvage."

Hogan and Kinch went up top and out into the muddy compound. Sure enough, the flag pole on top of the Kommandanture had been torn from its foundations, taking the aerial with it. So far there was enough other vital work to do in the camp- with three barracks roofless and another six buildings including the rec-hall leaking like sieves- that the flag pole hadn't yet been touched and was still lying were it fallen. The danger was now that one of the guards would go and pick it up and find the wiring inside it.

"Come with me, we'll go and volunteer to move the debris," Hogan said.

They headed over to the Kommandanture and arrived just as Klink was coming out.

"Kommandant!" Hogan said cheerfully, "We were just on our way to see you."

"What have you got to be so cheerful about?" Klink said sadly, "Look at this place, it's a mess!"

"That's why we've come," Hogan said. "I noticed that the flag pole had come down."

"Yes, taking half my roof with it, my bed was soaked!"

"Well, we're going to fix it for you, after all, what's a German POW camp without it's flag," Hogan said.

"Is that the most important thing you can think of right now?" Klink asked, incredulous. "Look around, the camp is in ruins, it's going to take days to set things right."

"Come on, Kommandant, appearances are everything. What would happen if General Burkhalter came by today. Okay, he might forgive the quagmire out here, and he may even find it in his heart to understand the mess the storm made of the barracks, even the downed fence, and.. is that guard tower damaged? but what would be say if he saw the beloved flag of the Third Reich in the mud?"

Klink was startled violently out of his introspection. "You're right, we can't leave it there, and the guard tower is no business of yours. Hogan, clear away the debris, and rig a temporary flag pole until I can get this one repaired."

"If you say so, Kommandant," Hogan said, flipping Klink a salute which was answered instinctively. "Come on Kinch."

The two men quickly went to the fallen flag pole. The wiring had been snapped off at the base of the pole, leaving little evidence of the poles duel role unless a person looked within.

"What are we going to do about getting a new aerial up, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

"We'll think of something, but until we do, we're out of the game," Hogan said. He bent down and took hold of one end of the flag pole. It was bent in the middle. "I'll see if I can get Klink to let us repair the roof of his quarters, that way we'll be able to rig a new one. Okay, lift!"

They carried the flag pole to the motor pool, which was doing service as a junk yard until trucks could come to haul the wreckage away, and Kinch quickly extracted the last of the wiring. He stared mournfully at the remnants of one of their cleverest acts of disguise. The Germans looked at the flag pretty much every day without a faintest idea of the pole's part in their potential downfall.

"Any ideas where we can rig a replacement?" Kinch asked.

Hogan looked around the compound and studied all the possibilities. None of the barracks were tall enough to be useful, and getting a line up one of the guard towers would be impractical at best. "I'll have to think about it for a while. Best option would be to get the flag pole back up, so we'll volunteer to do roof repairs on Klink's quarters and see about replacing the aerial while we're at it."

They headed back out into the main yard and Hogan was dismayed to see that there were already workmen on top of the Kommandanture fixing the roof, and they weren't prisoners. Glancing around, Hogan saw the prisoners were being kept busy with repairs to the other buildings. Klink was watching as his roof was being repairs, so Hogan joined him.

"What's the matter, Kommandant, don't trust my boys to fix your roof?" Hogan asked, implying insult.

"Your 'boys' are busy making their own quarters water-tight," Klink said, "And I know how they feel about me, I'm a strict disciplinarian, and they might try to get back at me by not doing the job properly."

"Come on, Kommandant, the fellas would never do that!" Hogan protested, "Strict you may be, but fair."

"Oh yes, always fair," Klink agreed. "Was there anything else you wanted?"

"No, not really," Hogan said. "How long do you think they'll be up there?"

"Not long, only a couple of panels need to be replaced." Klink glared at Hogan, "Shouldn't you be overseeing the repairs on the barracks?"

"Yes, I suppose I should," Hogan said.

"Very good, dismissed."

They exchanged salutes and Hogan went back to Kinch. "Bang goes that idea," Hogan said.

"Well, until we get replacement parts from London, it wouldn't have done any good anyway," Kinch said. He was being uncharacteristically pessimistic, but the storm had had that effect on practically everyone. Hogan was also finding it hard to keep positive.

"We'd better get on to that, then," Hogan said purposefully and headed back to the barracks.

Lebeau and Carter were hauling bedding out of the barracks and draping the damp straw-stuffed mattresses over ropes rigged up as washing lines. Hogan wrinkled his nose at the wet hay smell coming from them. There was little chance that they would dry completely before at least some mould set in.

"Lebeau, I need to you get into the kennels tonight and pin a note for Schnitzer on one of the dogs collars," Hogan said, "Kinch will give you a list of radio parts he needs to make repairs."

"Leave it to me, _mon Colonel_," Lebeau said. "We'll have the radio up and running again in no time."

"Mean while, let's get things back in order on the home front."


	4. Chapter 4 An Unexpected Development

**Chapter 4 - An Unexpected Development**

"Lebeau, here's the note. Pin it to the collar of one of the dogs to be replaced," Hogan instructed, handing the Frenchman a note once everything had settled down the night. "Schnitzer will be here first thing tomorrow to check on the dogs."

He had heard from the guard that Schnizter wasn't happy about his dogs being kept only in their kennels during such a fierce storm. In fact, the gossip was that the vet was furious. Hogan could understand why. Dogs didn't like thunderstorms and if the guards dogs hadn't already been de-sensitised to loud noises, they could have easily hurt or even killed themselves in their panic.

"Poor things," Lebeau said sympathetically, "Stuck in their kennels during that storm, the guards should be shot!"

"I agree, but there's not much we can do about it. Schnitzer's due in the morning and he's our only line of communication out of here," Hogan said. "The tunnel to the kennels is fine, so you shouldn't have any problems."

The note for Schnitzer explained their situation. With any luck he would be able to get to a radio and contact London. With a great deal of luck they would have new radio parts within a few days.

Lebeau hurried away on his errand and Hogan studied his men, sitting around the table, or lying on the bunks. Their shoulders drooped, heads hung, some of them seemed to be asleep. It had been a long day trying to get things back into shape, tomorrow would be just as long, and the next day and who knew how many more days after that. He couldn't blame them if they weren't up to talking. It was a relief that the wind had finally died down to a light zephyr so maybe they could all get a decent nights sleep.

Lebeau was back quickly. "All done, mon Colonel," he reported.

"Excellent, good job, Lebeau," Hogan said.

"It was nothing, the hardest part is getting away from the dogs, they all want attention," Lebeau said modestly.

Down below work was progressing with clearing mud and debris in three tunnels and reinforcing supports in the other two. It was back breaking work in dark, cramped conditions and with the men as exhausted as they were, work was progressing slowly. The most vital tunnels had been seen to first. The tunnel to the cooler had been left until last, there were no prisoners in solitary and Hogan had issued strict orders that no one was to do anything to get themselves confined.

"Any progress on getting the new aerial installed?" Hogan asked Kinch.

"We've got the wiring ready," Kinch said, "We just need somewhere to rig it."

"We'll try for the roof of Klink's quarters again, but not tonight," Hogan said, "Every one is to tired, and I don't want any mistakes. The tunnel to the cooler is still blocked, so we can't get there if anyone gets themselves in trouble."

Kinch nodded. "Tomorrow is fine by me, I could use some sack time."

"We all could. Get some rest, tomorrow's going to be another long, dirty day."

* * *

"Colonel Hogan, Schnitzer's here, and there's another car coming in too," Carter said, poking his head around the corner barracks to where Hogan was helping with repair work.

Hogan passed his burden over to one of the other men on the work crew and joined the sergeant at the corner of the barracks. Schnitzer was already with the dogs. He glanced around the compound, spotted Hogan and nodded, very slightly. He had the note.

The other car was a large three axle staff car which rattled across the logs laid down in the yard to try to combat the mud and came to a halt in front of the Kommandantur. Klink was soon bustling out the door to greet the man who alighted from it.

The visitor wore a Luftwaffe uniform and the rank insignia of a Hauptmann, or Captain, crisply pressed and immaculate from head to foot- until he stepped into the slowly drying mud. His disapproval was evident in every line of his body as he stepped up out of the mire. He turned enough while exchanging salutes with Klink for Hogan to see his face. There was a scar on his cheek, and if he ever smiled it would probably crack his face.

"I'm going to see if I can close enough to hear what they're talking about," Hogan said and wandered across the yard. It was hard to look nonchalant when you slipped with every step. He wasn't in time to hear the Captain's name.

"Kommandant Klink, I have need to examine the security arrangements of your camp," the Captain said.

"The security arrangements?" Klink asked, puzzled. "Captain, you are probably aware of the storm that passed through this region a couple of days ago. It caused extensive damage to the camp infrastructure."

"Yes, I know. It is the damage to your perimeter and the steps you have taken to ensure security that I wish to see," the Captain said.

Klink drew himself up, "Captain von Stalhein, this is a Prisoner of War camp under the direct control of General Burkhalter, I can't go giving tours to every curious officer who turns up."

"Then perhaps your should examine this," von Stalhein said and passed over a folded page.

Klink gave him a glare, then unfolded the page and read it. His frown deepened.

"As you can see, Kommandant, I have been given permission by the Prisoner of War Administration to conduct an inspection of your camp," von Stalhein said.

"Yes, I see that," Klink said. He pulled himself up to his full height. "If you would care to step this way, Captain von Stalhein, shall we start with the fence?"

Hogan returned to where his crew were waiting. "Kinch, Klink is going to be out of his office for a while with the Captain von Stalhein, see what you can do to fix the bug to his office. I'm going to follow them and see what they're up to." The bug had been yet another casualty of the storm.

"Be careful, Colonel," Kinch said.

"Always," Hogan replied, flashing him a grin.

Hogan walked quickly between the buildings, taking a short cut to where the two officers strode along the perimeter. At least von Stalhein strode, Klink scurried to keep up with the slender Captain's longer stride. Hogan flitted from cover to cover, watching them as von Stalhein stopped to examine the two points where the fence was down. Even from a distance he could see Klink reassuring the Captain- pointing out the armed guards at the gap and the work under way to clear the debris and repair the damage. Von Stalhein didn't appear to say anything, but studied the breaks with great interest.

They were busy for nearly an hour before von Stalhein abruptly turned on his heel and headed back towards the Kommandantur with Klink hurrying after him. Hogan dashed back to Barracks 2 and dead-heated Kinch at the door. Newkirk and Lebeau were in the barracks already, ostensibly scrubbing the tramped in mud off the floor.

"Schnitzer has the message, Colonel," Lebeau said. "He dropped a note saying that he would see what he could do, and he'd be back tomorrow with news."

"That's one piece of good news at least. With any luck we'll have the radio up and running again in a few days. Kinch, how's the coffee pot?"

"We won't know until we try," Kinch said. They trooped into the office and plugged in the coffee pot.

There was some static, but they could hear the conversation clearly enough.

"_As you can see, Captain von Stalhein, although there has been damage, I have taken all possible steps to ensure that none of the prisoners are tempted to to an escape,"_ Klink gushed, _"After all, as you would know, there has never been an escape from Stalag 13."_

"_I cannot understand why,"_ von Stalhein sneered, _"I have never seen a less escape-proof prison camp- hills on three sides, thick forest almost right to the fence, plenty of cover, barracks built flush to the ground, and guards scraped from the rags and remnants of the Wehrmacht. A school girl could walk in here without being noticed."_

"_I assure you, Captain, that although it may seem like..."_ Klink started to splutter.

"_Enough,"_ von Stalhein cut him abruptly. _"Your camp is perfect for my operation. I shall return tomorrow to being proceedings. Until then, heil Hitler."_

"_Oh yes, Heil Hitler,"_ Klink returned unhappily.

"Whatever this von Stalhein bloke is up to, it's not going to make life any easier," Newkirk commented as Hogan unplugged the coffee pot.

"We don't know what he wants yet," Hogan said as he went to the barracks window. He was in time to see von Stalhein climb back into his car and drive off- wheels spinning a little in the mud and spattering the Kommandantur with grime.

"I'm going to see what I can find out," Hogan said and headed out the door.

Klink was on the porch, watching the activity around the camp with a confused expression. As Hogan approached, he saw the Kommandant shrug to himself.

"Morning, Kommandant," Hogan said cheerfully as he walked up. "Was that the inspector from the POW Administration? Because I have a list of materials we need to..."

"Hogan, I'm not interested in your list," Klink said, still distracted by his visitor.

"But sir, there are essential repairs that need to be done. We don't have enough roofing to repair Barracks 16 and fix the leaks in the rec-hall roof, not to mention the damage to the fence."

"What is your interest in the fence?" Klink asked sharply.

"Nothing much, Kommandant, but those gaps in the fence might tempt the men to try an escape," Hogan said, "And with all the extra patrols there is no way anyone would get through and I don't want any of my men shot."

"Hogan," Klink waved his fist under Hogan's nose. "If any of your men get within 10 metres of the damaged fence they will be thrown in the cooler. Any man caught outside the wire will be shot on sight."

"I guess you can't be any fairer than that," Hogan conceded, "But if he wasn't from the POW Administration, where was that Captain from?"

"That is none of your business, stick to doing your repairs. Dismiss!" Klink gave a brief salute and went back inside.

Hogan returned to Barracks 2, pondering over the conversation. In his office Kinch was listening in to the bug again.

"He's on the phone to Burkhalter, Colonel," Kinch reported as Hogan entered.

"_General Burkhalter, as always a pleasure to talk to you,"_ Klink was saying, _"Yes, I know I called you... I understand that you are busy, Herr General... What do I want? A Luftwaffe Captain, von Stalhein, came to see me today, he seemed a very suspicious character... What? Give him every cooperation... Anything he wants... But General Burk... Yes sir, shut up, Klink... Oh yes, heil Hitler."_

"That wasn't particularly informative," Kinch observed.

"All we know is that this Captain von Stalhein will be back tomorrow and whatever he's doing or planning to do has the authority of the brass," Hogan replied. He was worried. There was still too much to do, they couldn't afford to have to undertake a dangerous mission while their infrastructure was damaged and all communications in and out of the camp were down.

"It gives us something to look forward to," Kinch said, his voice as dry as a desert.

Hogan shot him a dirty look. "Some times I really wonder about you."


	5. Chapter 5 New Faces

**Chapter 5- New Faces**

Von Stalhein was true to his word and his car with a truck following, was admitted to camp during roll call the next day.

The prisoners of Stalag 13 were kept in formation, fidgeting to keep warm in the chilly morning air, and watched with curiosity as the car stopped in front of the Kommandantur. Klink went to greet the Captain as he emerged and the two exchanged words. Heated words from the look of it as Klink waved his arms around to make his point and von Stalhein stood firm with his hands clasped stiffly behind his back. Eventually Klink threw up his hands and called a couple of the guards over as von Stalhein gave orders to someone in the back of the truck.

Hogan expected a new prisoner, but he didn't expect the introduction to camp that this one recieved. Two soldiers jumped down from the truck followed by a Luftwaffe Leutnant dragging with him a battered man in RAF officer's uniform whom he unceremoniously dumped on the ground. The two soldiers immediately covered the new prisoner with their weapons. The flier's efforts to rise were hampered by the shackles he wore on his wrists and ankles, but he managed and stood starting stolidly into space in front of the German officers.

"A new prisoner," Newkirk remarked quietly.

"Hmm," Hogan gave a non-committal reply. "What's going on, Schultz?" he asked the big sergeant.

"I know nothing," Schultz said, "The Big Shot didn't tell me there was going to be a new prisoner today." He sounded confused and a little hurt by his commanders lack of confidence in him.

"He looks pretty knocked around," Newkirk said as the RAF officer swayed on his feet.

"When we're done here, you'd better get Wilson. Tell him he's going to have a patient."

"Righto, sir," Newkirk agreed.

The prisoner was not, however, taken into Klink's office for induction, but dragged directly to the cooler by the Leutnant, the soldiers and Stalag guards, closely followed by von Stalhein.

Once he was out of sight Klink came forward to complete the morning routine. "Report!" he bellowed.

Schultz saluted, "All present and accounted for," he reported happily. He was always happy when the count lined up and even more so when the names matched the faces.

"Prisoners of Stalag 13, this camp has a reputation throughout all of the Third Reich for being the most secure and toughest POW camp in all of Germany," Klink started.

_Oh boy, here we go again_, Hogan thought. He missed the next few words before his attention was dragged back.

"Therefore, anyone going within 20 meters of the cooler will be severely punished. That is all. Dismissed!" Klink finished with a flourish and flounced back into his office.

The men fell out of formation and most headed straight for the mess-hall and their rather pathetic excuse for breakfast. Hogan gathered his crew around him and they headed back into their own barracks, the need for information about the new prisoner taking priority over breakfast. Carter took watch at the door.

"Who do you think he is, mon Colonel?" Lebeau asked.

"He's RAF, a Flying Officer at least," Newkirk said.

"Considering the way he's being treated he must some information that the krauts want pretty badly," Kinch said.

"We need to get to him," Hogan said, "Find out who he is, and how bad he's hurt. Kinch, how is the tunnel to the cooler?"

"Still blocked. It'll take a couple of days before we're through."

"Pull the diggers off the other tunnels, make the cooler the priority," Hogan ordered. "I don't like the look of that kraut Captain, he's got a mean streak."

"Colonel, the Captain is heading back into Klink's office," Carter called.

"Let's listen in, see what we can find out," Hogan said as he headed to his quarters, his crew hard on his heels.

"_Captain von Stalhein, if you just give me the transfer papers for the new prisoner, I'll get Fraulein Hilda to process him at once,"_ Klink said.

"_There are no transfer papers, and this prisoner will not be entered onto your camp rolls,"_ von Stalhein said. _"Officially he is not here. Unofficially he is going to assist in the capture of one of the most dangerous British agents there is, an agent who can and has done more damage than any three resistance leaders."_

"_How is he going to assist you? I know men like that, Captain, you won't get any information out of him."_

"_I wil get what I want out of him, but there is no need to hurry. H__e is here as bait for my trap. You see, Colonel, I know this young man. I know who he is, where he comes from, the squadron he flies with, his friends and his family. I commented that a school girl could get into your camp, in fact, I am counting on it. The agent I wish to trap will not leave him a prisoner, especially not _my_ prisoner,_" von Stalhein said. _"From tomorrow you are to pull the patrols back from the breaks in the fence. Not so far as to be leaving an obvious gap, but enough to provide an easy entry for anyone has a little experience at moving undetected. A rescue attempt shall be made, and then..."_ there was a snapping sound, _"the trap will be sprung."_

"_An excellent scheme, Captain,"_ Klink said, _"I will have all the prisoners confined to barracks, as a precaution against escape attempts."_

"_No."_

"_No?"_

"_It will look strange is there are no prisoners working to repair the damage, and I fully expect my prey to observe before striking. Anything unusual will be noted. Have work continue under heavy guard, but keep your guards hidden- confine everyone else."_

"_Ah, very good, very good,"_ Klink said gleefully. _"You will have your man , no one will have escaped, and Stalag 13 will retain its perfect record."_

"_As you say. In the mean time, I will continue to interrogate my prisoner. There are still questions which need to be answered."_

"_I thought you knew everything about him,"_ Klink queried.

"_No one can ever know everything and there is still the question of why he was flying over Germany by himself, with no sign of the rest of his squadron,"_ von Stalhein said, _"I will enjoy extracting every last scrap of information out of him."_

"I've heard enough," Hogan said and pulled the plug. Everyone was sitting silent and white faced around the table. Hogan glanced at the horrified expressions. "We're in a jam here. We can't let this agent walk into a trap, but he don't know who he is, where he is, or how to contact him."

"Von Stalhein sounds like he's expecting him sometime from tomorrow onwards," Kinch said.

Hogan nodded. "Yes, that means he's probably already leaked the information to the underground." Hogan paced a short path back and forth across his quarters. "With all those patrols out there I don't want to risk using the emergency tunnel unless we absolutely have to, and we can't lie in wait for this agent. The only thing we can do is wait for him to show up in camp and grab him before he gets near the cooler. Kinch, set up a roster of watchers- day and night from tonight morning. In the mean time we may need to do a snatch and grab on the guy in the cooler."

"More digging," Newkirk said with a long suffering sigh.

"Why Newkirk, thank you for volunteering," Hogan said brightly.

"I just don't know when to keep my ruddy mouth shut."

Hogan gave a small chuckle at Newkirk's mournful face. "Get a party together and get moving on the cooler, I'm going to head over to Klink's office and see about getting in to see this mystery prisoner. Move as fast as you can, but be careful, this von Stalhein doesn't seem like the type to mess about."

"As you say, Colonel," Newkirk said.

"Good man," Hogan said and headed out. A few moments later he was in the outer office of the Kommandatur and kissing the back of Hilda's neck as she filed the mountainous paperwork generated by the prison camp.

"You only kiss me when you want something," she complained, half jokingly as she shivered with delight.

"Are you objecting?" Hogan asked as he kissed her again.

"No, but you did promise me chocolate."

"Be patient, there's a war on, you know," Hogan murmured into her shoulder. He reluctantly lifted his cheek from her smooth shoulder. "Is old Rusty in?"

"Yes, and he's not happy," Hilda said, turning into his arms.

"I want to talk to him about the new prisoner," Hogan said, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Do you know anything about him?"

"The RAF Lieutenant?" Hilda asked, "No, they didn't give me his transfer file."

"I'd better go and ask him myself then," he said as he released his hold on her.

"Better you than me," Hilda replied, "I don't like that Captain von Stalhein, there's something about him that is... I don't know the word... he makes my skin crawl."

"Creepy?" Hogan suggested.

"Ja, creepy," Hilda agreed. "He's gone to the cooler with the new prisoner."

"Thanks Hilda," Hogan gave her a quick peck on the cheek and slipped into the inner office.

The Kommandant was busy with his requisition forms for roofing and building materials, blankets, barbed wire and countless other items needed to repair the camp. He barely glanced up before returning to his work.

"Not now, Hogan, can't you see I'm busy."

"Kommandant, I want to lodge a formal protest," Hogan said as firmly as possible.

"What about this time?"

"The new prisoner who was brought in this morning. Under the Geneva Prisoner of War Convention, as senior POW officer I am required to be present when any new prisoners are inducted into the camp or undergoing interrogation."

"What new prisoner?" Klink asked, attempting to be sly.

"The RAF officer brought in around roll call," Hogan insisted.

"I have not had any new prisoner transferred into my custody today," Klink said, spreading his hands to protest his innocence.

"Come on, Kommandant, we were all in the yard when he was brought in," Hogan protested. "That kraut Captain had him carted off to the cooler before I had a chance to welcome him to his new home."

"That RAF officer is not being transferred here," Klink said, "Just spending a couple of days here, so he is not your responsibility and I would advise you to keep your nose out of this."

"If he's not being transferred, then why is he here?" Hogan asked.

"The less you know, the safer you will be, now- dismissed!" Klink threw a salute at him and bent back to his work.

Hogan gave a sloppy salute in return and left. He wasn't getting anywhere today. As he was leaving the Kommandantur, he met the German Captain coming in. Up close he was cold, with closed features and a brutally efficient demeanour. He studied Hogan with the same intense regards.

"_Und wer sind Sie_?" von Stalhein asked, using formal phrasing.

Hogan didn't let on he understood the Captain's words. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"I said- who are you?" von Stalhein asked.

"Colonel Robert Hogan, Senior POW Officer," Hogan replied. He didn't salute, neither did von Stalhein.

"You are American." It was a statement, not a question.

"That's right."

"I do not like your attitude, Colonel Hogan," von Stalhein said, "Stay out of my way, and I shall not have occasion to correct you on it."

Without waiting for a reply he swept past Hogan and into the office. Hogan watched him go with a feeling of unease growing in his stomach.


	6. Chapter 6 Breaking Out

**Chapter 6- Breaking out**

"The tunnel is the only option," Hogan said to his crew, "Klink isn't going to budge with access to the cooler, and Captain von Stalhein is trouble in jodhpurs. The only bright point to this is that the prisoner- we really need to find out what his name is- hasn't been entered into the camp rolls, so if we have to do a snatch and grab it won't reflect on Klink's precious 'no escape' record."

"The tunnel is going to take at least another 24 to 48 hours, guv," Newkirk said, "We'll need to add new bracing before it's safe to use."

"There's plenty of timber from the damaged barracks," Carter said, "It's just lying around not being used."

"Let's find a good use for it then," Hogan said.

"Colonel Hogan, a message from Schnitzer," Lebeau said as he emerged from the tunnel, "He just came in now to replace one of the dogs he says he noticed hurt yesterday and dropped this down the tunnel."

Hogan took the message, squinting a little to decipher Schnizter's hand writing. "The radio parts are going to be air-dropped tomorrow night, and... oh no."

"What is it, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

"A British agent, code named Kestrel wants our help to get in to camp tonight. He's arranged a rendezvous at Brandtner's farm, midnight tonight. The recognition phrase is included."

"Boy, those British agents sure move fast," Carter said, "That Captain isn't expecting him until tomorrow."

"Yes, and tonight the woods are still going to be thick with patrols, all of whom are going to shoot first and not bother with questions. If Kestrel even comes close, he's dead."

"How? We can't get out with all those patrols out there. If we stick our heads above ground it'll be us that cops it, not this Kestrel bloke," Newkirk said.

Hogan paced for almost two minutes before turning, grim faced, to his crew. He did not like where this was headed, but he had no choice. Kestrel was a priority. If the Germans got their hands on someone like that dozens of lives could be lost. They had to get to him first. "This is going to be dangerous. We can't use the emergency exit while the patrols are out, so we need a diversion to pull them away from the area. We're going to have to stage an escape through one of the gaps."

"That's crazy," Carter said, "You heard what Klink said yesterday, anyone caught outside the fence will be shot on sight."

Hogan grimaced. In his heart he agreed with the young sergeant, it was dangerous, too dangerous, but it had to be done. "I don't intend you to get outside the fence, Carter, stay on the inside, but make it look like you were trying to get out. Make lots of noise, draw the patrols to your area, and surrender immediately. Lebeau, you go with him."

"Why me?" Lebeau protested, "I didn't say anything!"

"Even if they don't shoot us, they'll toss us in the cooler," Carter added.

"I'm counting on it," Hogan said. "It's an opportunity to make contact with the RAF man, find out who he is and how badly he's hurt. I'll get you out as soon as I can."

"Sometimes I wish I could just keep my big mouth shut," Carter said mournfully.

Newkirk patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. "I hear you, mate."

"I'm glad, because you're going with me, Newkirk," Hogan said.

Newkirk's face fell a mile.

* * *

Hogan and Newkirk waited in the tunnel under the emergency exit. Hogan glanced at his watch again. Everything relied on timing. They couldn't hear what was going on above ground, so had no signal to say it was clear for them to go. Worry about Carter and Lebeau sat like a cold hard cannon ball in his stomach. He'd put them in danger before, and they had taken on the job willingly, but if they were hurt or killed it was because of his orders. They were supposed to be out of the war, they were supposed to be safe, not dancing with death for some unknown agent.

Newkirk checked his gun and slipped it into his waist band. "Don't fret, Colonel, Lebeau and Carter know what they're doing."

"I know, I just can't help worrying," Hogan said, looking at his watch again. Thirty seconds to go. "I hope this agent is worth it." The second hand seemed to slow down as he watched it, taking an age to move from one second to the next. Hogan clenched his hands, and relaxed, trying to convince his nerves to relax as well. Another ten seconds had passed, twenty more to go. Counting down... Ten to go. Hogan grabbed the rungs of the ladder and started climbing.

At the top of the ladder he paused and cracked open the trap door, just a little. Alarm bells, dogs barking, guards shouting, the sound of bodies crashing through the undergrowth heading away from them. Right on time. He grinned, adrenaline starting pumping through his veins, making everything sharper and more focussed.

"Let's go," he whispered to Newkirk and pushed open the trap. The world sped up again and he was out and into cover behind a tree in a matter of second. Newkirk joined him and they paused, listening with all their beings, trying to ignore the thumping of their own hearts.

They exchange a glance, communicating silently that they were ready, and headed into the night. Hogan's thoughts were behind him with his two men. Carter and Lebeau had done a good job in drawing off the guards, there were no patrols in their area, he just hoped that they hadn't got themselves hurt. Silently the two black clad spies wafted between the trees as they headed towards the old Brandtner farm.

The night was lit by a gibbous moon which shone brightly in the cloudless sky, giving the forest an eerie, otherworldly atmosphere. There wasn't a breath of wind and the sky was pitch black. Every now and then the call of hunting night bird or the bark of a fox sounded out, shockingly loud in the shadowed forest. The two men had had long experience in sharp, unexpected noises, but even so, it was wearing on the nerves. It was close to midnight when they finally reached the rendezvous point.

The farm itself had been abandoned a couple of years ago and was already looking run down. Hogan and Newkirk crouched behind some overgrown rosemary bushes at the edge of the farm yard and studied the surroundings. The farm house itself had lost its roof, possibly in the storm which had wrecked havoc on Stalag 13, and broken beams projected from the frame of the house like twisted claws. The lack of light in any window, the absence of smoke curling from the chimney and the abandoned air about the place made it feel oppressive rather than welcoming.

"Whoever this Kestrel is, he's clever," Newkirk murmured. There wasn't a light or sound or any indication that anyone was within a mile of the place. "Either that or he's not here."

Hogan nodded. Most underground units gave some indication that they were in residence, usually through a small mistake such as talking too loudly or having light from a lamp showing. Here there was nothing. "I'm going in," he said, "Keep an eye out, you know the signal if anyone turns up."

"Three owl hoots, I remember," Newkirk said, and settled down to watch.

Hogan crept forward towards the barn. There wasn't a sound within, but he didn't let that lull him into a false sense of safety. Instead of going in through the door, he found a window which opened practically soundlessly and slipped in that way. There was no artificial light in the barn, only sharp beams of white moon light which lanced down through the holes in the roof. The moonlight only made the shadows darker and Hogan moved with the silence of a cat from one patch of shadow to the next. Every few steps he stopped and listened, not even breathing. He was almost ready to believe he was by himself when a familiar, cold shape pressed itself against the back of his neck. He stiffened.

"Don't even think of trying to move," a voice whispered in the darkness.


	7. Chapter 7 Kestrel

**Chapter 7- Kestrel**

"Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe," Hogan said softly, not daring to move as he gave the first part of the recognition phrase.

"All mimsy were the borogroves and the mome rathes outgrabe," the reply came promptly. "You must be Papa Bear."

"That's right, and you must be Kestrel," Hogan said, "Can I turn around now?"

"Not yet," the voice was still no louder than a whisper. "Are you alone?"

"One of my men is standing guard outside. He'll warn us if any one comes. Do you mind? I always prefer to discuss matters of delicacy without a gun pressed against the back of my head. It makes me feel uncomfortable."

Kestrel gave a light chuckled and the cold gun barrel was removed. "Step into the light."

"Don't you trust me?" Hogan asked lightly as he stepped into a moon beam.

"I don't trust many people, but that's beside the point. I want to see your face." The voice was stronger this time, and distinctly female. His attacker also stepped into the light. She was of middling height, slender and as far as he could tell, very pretty. She was dressed in black clothing, her face smeared with something dark and her hair covered by a dark cap.

"You're a woman!" Hogan exclaimed. That didn't add up. Kestrel, the British agent, was supposed to be a man. At least von Stalhein had called him 'he'.

Kestrel gave him a questioning look. "Obviously," she replied. "Where you expecting someone taller?"

"No, I was expecting a man," Hogan said as he looked her up and down. Even if the face didn't match up with his expectation she was very nice to look at.

"Have you done ogling yet?" Kestrel asked, her voice coloured with a mix of amusement and irritation, as though she wasn't sure which way her emotion should go.

"Sorry," Hogan said and gave her a charming smile. Her appearance had thrown him and she was in a position of strength. He needed a moment to regroup and launch a counter offensive to retake control of the situation. "Let's try starting again. Kestrel, I'm pleased to meet you."

"You too, Papa Bear," she replied, humouring him. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Colonel Robert Hogan," Hogan corrected her. "And you are?"

"Just call me Kestrel for now."

Hogan raised an eye brow. So his counter offensive had meet with firm resistance, she wasn't giving up her ground easily. "Schnitzer dropped a message that you wanted my help getting into Stalag 13. There are goons crawling all over the woods, lucky you didn't come anywhere near the camp."

"I know, I saw them when I cased the camp," Kestrel said. "I'm here for the pilot who was brought into the stalag this morning."

"You must have been right behind him, Schnitzer dropped your message only a few hours after he was brought in," Hogan said.

"I was. I've been trying to come up with a feasible plan to rescue him for the last week, so when I got a message three days ago that he was being moved from the Dulag Luft to the prison in Hammelburg I set up shop in the Underground's safe house across the road and watched," Kestrel told him. "When my contact in the prison told me he was being moved to Stalag 13, I made my way here as soon as I could. You have a reputation for rescuing downed fliers. Can you get him out of the camp?"

"That's not going to be easy," Hogan said, "He's in solitary. We have a tunnel which goes there, but a section of it caved in during the storm a few days ago and we haven't finished clearing it yet. What's his name?"

"Flying Officer Hebblethwaite," Kestrel said, "RAF, 666 Squadron. Have you seen him?" Kestrel asked anxiously, "Is he alright?"

_Hebblethwaite?_ Hogan thought in wonderment at the strange names the English had. He shook his head. "I haven't been able to get to him yet; our Kommandant is behaving like a prison warden and won't let anyone near. He looked pretty banged up when he was brought in, but he was walking under his own steam."

"That's something at least." Her tone was strong and sure, but Hogan could sense a great deal of stress under her calm exterior. He conceded a nil-all draw, things were getting to serious to play any more.

"I was briefed- briefly- on your operation when I first came into Germany," she continued, "in case I ever needed your help. You have a reputation in the underground and in London for achieving the impossible."

"We've had our successes," Hogan said modestly. "The Captain who brought him in said that he was going to use your flier as bait to trap you."

"To trap me?" Kestrel sounded surprised, "Do you know the Captain's name?"

"Captain von Stalhein."

Kestrel's face blenched and for a moment she looked quite ill. "Captain Erich von Stalhein?"

"I didn't catch his first name."

"That explains a lot," she murmured. "Tell me exactly what you know."

"He came in this morning with Hebblethwaite and threw him straight in the cooler," Hogan told her. "We have a bug planted the Kommandants office and we overheard them talking. Von Stalhein said he was going to use Hebblethwaite as bait to catch a British spy. I assumed he meant you, but that was before I found out you are a woman."

"I was wondering why he would be taken out of a perfectly secure prison and brought to a damaged POW camp," Kestrel said. "Now it makes sense. Did von Stalhein say anything else?"

"He's passing the time until you arrive by interrogating him. He still doesn't know what Hebblethwaite's mission here is."

"Thank God," Kestrel said with a sigh of relief. "Colonel Hogan, Hebblethwaite was shot down about a week ago; he was on route to pick me up when he was brought down not far from here."

"The Lysander," Hogan said, putting the pieces together, "He was flying that."

"Yes. I was told you destroyed the plane, thank you. If von Stalhein doesn't know what his mission was, it means he doesn't know about me. I'm not the one he's here to trap."

"Then who is?"

"I'm guessing he's after a man called James Bigglesworth, RAF, Squadron Leader of the 666 Squadron," Kestrel replied. "Hebblethwaite's commander. There's no other reason why von Stalhein would take an interest if he doesn't know about me, unless he's after someone else entirely."

"That matches up with what we overheard," Hogan added, "The whole idea is that tomorrow," he glanced at his watch, "Today, he going to draw the patrols back from the woods, providing a clear entrance into the camp to whoever it is he's after. Once he's in, the trap closes."

"Sneaky bastard," Kestrel swore, "Von Stalhein must have been crowing with delight when he learned Hebblethwaite had been captured."

"Bigglesworth would walk willingly into a trap for one of his pilots?" Hogan asked, incredulous. He had lost men under his command before, killed and captured when shot down in raids over Germany, but never once had he or any other commander he knew thrown themselves willingly into a middle of enemy territory to rescue a single man, that was the Underground's job.

"Ginger, er, Flying Officer Hebblethwaite, is more than just another pilot to Bigglesworth. They've known each other for years," Kestrel said. "You would go out of your way to rescue one of your men if you knew they had been captured and were facing imprisonment, torture and probable execution, wouldn't you."

"Yes," Hogan conceded, he would and had put him mission on the line to rescue one of his men fallen into difficulty.

"Then also allow others to feel the same way," Kestrel said in a tone which allowed for no argument. "Colonel, I need to get in touch with London at once. Do you have a radio?"

"We do but it's not working. The storm a couple of days ago knocked it out. Why is von Stalhein so interested in this Bigglesworth?"

"Let's just say they're the best of old enemies. Is there any chance your radio will be up and running any time soon?"

"We've got parts coming in tomorrow night; we'll be back on the air next day at the latest."

Kestrel bit her lip. "This is going to be cutting things close."

"Does von Stalhein know about our operation?"

"I don't think so. He wouldn't have risked setting his trap here if he thought that there would be some factor outside his control," Kestrel said.

"Then if he doesn't know about you, and he doesn't know about us," Hogan speculated, his mind whirling with possibilities, "Then there is a chance we may be able to pull this off. A trap is only a trap if the prey doesn't know that it's there. We can turn this thing around."

"You really believe so?" Kestrel asked, "From where I'm standing there are all sorts of things which can go wrong at any given moment."

"We've handled tougher cases than this before, but it's going to take planning and careful timing. First thing is to get back to camp," Hogan said, "It's getting late and we need to be back in time for roll call."

"Roll call?" Kestrel asked.

"We've never missed one yet," Hogan boasted with mock pride.

"This should be interesting; I've never seen a prison camp from the inside."

"Inside, maybe not, underneath, definitely."


	8. Chapter 8 Breaking In

**Chapter 8- Breaking In**

Hogan raised his head slowly. The patrol had passed and he was waiting for the last man. There was always a last man a few seconds behind the main group. Footsteps approached and Hogan ducked his face back to the ground again as the flash light beam swept across their hiding spot. He counted slowly to twenty and looked up. The forest was silent. On the other side of the track a flash of pale colour among the dark undergrowth and a faint rustle indicated that Newkirk was ready to go.

He reached over and tapped Kestrel on the shoulder gesturing for them to continue. Kestrel nodded and climbed quietly to her feet to follow Hogan's careful path, holding a dark coloured rucksack close to her body. That was the third time they had had to take cover to avoid patrols and diving into the undergrowth had left them all filthy and scratched. Thankfully they were nearly home, one last rise, a mad dash to the tree stump tunnel entrance and they would be safe, or at least as safe as they ever were.

Hogan and Kestrel joined Newkirk at the last stopping point before the stump. They watched the beam from the guard tower spot light sweep across the hill side, illuminating the stump for a moment before moving on. Newkirk was about to make a dash for the entrance when Kestrel grabbed his arm. She had heard something moving through the trees.

A dog shouldered its way through the undergrowth and the three froze for a moment, unsure if it was friendly or brought in by the extra guards. Kestrel had eased out her gun and pointed it at the huge German shepherd. The dog tilted its head to one side and examined them curiously. Hogan grabbed her hand and forced the gun down.

"Relax," he said, "That's one of ours."

Hearing a friendly voice the dog trotted over and licked Hogan's face enthusiastically. Hogan pushed him off. "Not now, Wolfgang," he said, "Go on, we need you to lead the patrols away."

Wolfgang licked him again then bounded away. Not far behind him were Schultz and another guard.

"Wolfgang found something!" the over-excited guard exclaimed.

"He probably just found a rabbit hole," Schultz countered. He sounded very tired and like he really didn't want to spend time chasing after shadows. "Look, there he goes."

They kept on going just as the spot light beam lit up the area again. Schultz said something uncomplimentary as the light caught him in the face, blinding him. Muttering darkly he wandered off parallel to the fence line.

"That was too close," Kestrel said, her voice shaking just a little.

"Schultz isn't a problem," Hogan said. "Any of the others would shoot first and ask questions later, but Schultz spends most of his time looking the other way. Okay, Newkirk, get going."

Newkirk bolted for the tree stump and was safely inside in moments.

"That's impressive," Kestrel murmured.

"Just wait till you see where it leads," Hogan said. "Ready to go?"

She nodded.

They waited until the beam had passed by again, and then dashed for the tree stump. They were in and down the ladder no time flat.

Once they were safely down, Kestrel looked around the tunnel system and raised an eyebrow, casting an impressed gaze at Hogan.

"It's just a little project we've been working on," Hogan said modestly when he met her gaze. "Be careful, the floor is still a bit slippery."

"Did you have damage to your tunnels from the storm?" Kestrel asked.

"Unfortunately yes," Hogan said, "Including the tunnel to the cooler, which is why we haven't been able to get in and see Hebblethwaite yet."

"I'll give you what help I can," Kestrel promised.

Kinch was waiting in the radio room, fiddling with the radio wiring, but the rest of the place was deserted.

"Colonel Hogan, thank goodness you're back," Kinch said with an audible sigh of relief.

"Anything happen while I was gone?" Hogan asked.

"I sent everyone to get some rest about 0100," Kinch reported, "We'll start again after roll call. And Carter and Lebeau are back. They weren't hurt," he hastened to add, "They're upstairs getting some sleep."

"Klink didn't throw them in the cooler?"

"Apparently not," Kinch said with a shrug.

"Knowing them, Lebeau will be lying awake staring at the ceiling," Hogan said. "Kinch, this is Kestrel."

"That's Kestrel?" Kinch asked, looking the young woman up and down appreciative. "I thought Kestrel was a man."

"So did I," Newkirk said, "I can't say I'm upset, though." He casually put an arm around Kestrel's waist.

A second later he was flat on the floor, his right arm twisted up behind his back while Kestrel ground her knee into his spine. She let him go almost immediately as he yelped in surprise. "Oi! What did I do?"

"Sorry, corporal," she said, sounding not in the least apologetic, "When someone surprises me I tend to react with my training." She gave him a hand up off the floor. "It's the only way I've stayed alive."

Hogan and Kinch were both laughing so hard there were tears dripping down their faces.

"I think that means look but don't touch, Newkirk," Kinch said between bouts of laughter.

"Blimey, none of the underground girls ever react like that," Newkirk said in an aggrieved tone as he rubbed his abused shoulder.

"Probably none of them spent six month intensive training in unarmed combat," Kestrel said with a shrug.

"I'll remember that," Newkirk said. "Will you two stop laughing!"

"Let that be a lesson to you, Newkirk," Hogan said when he got himself back under control, "This Kestrel has claws as well as pretty feathers."

The trap door to the barracks above swung open and Lebeau descended the ladder. Carter wasn't far behind him. Lebeau looked as though he had, as predicted, lain awake all night long, while Carter was rubbing his eyes and yawning at being woken up from the sleep of the innocent.

"I heard laughter," Lebeau said when they were safely down. "I'm glad to see you're back. Who's this?" He looked Kestrel up and down appreciatively.

"This is Kestrel," Hogan said.

"This is the British agent von Stalhein is after?" Lebeau asked, surprised, "I though you were a man!"

"Yeah, that Captain kept on calling you 'he'," Carter added.

"No, I'm not the agent von Stalhein is after," Kestrel said. "I'm another one he doesn't know about. The man he's after is likely to make an appearance in the next couple of days if I'm right. I hope you're not disappointed."

"No way, boy! Er, ma'am," Carter said with his customary enthusiasm.

"_Mon dieu_, this is getting complicated," Lebeau said and yawned. Now that everyone was back safe the sleep he hadn't been getting was creeping up on him.

"We'll talk about it in the morning," Hogan said. "But why aren't you in the Cooler?"

"Kommandant Klink was all for throwing us in there, but that Captain von Stalhein over-rode him," Lebeau said.

"Yeah, he said that he didn't want anyone else in the cooler until after his operation was over," Carter added, "Then the Kommandant could do whatever he wanted with us."

"Something to look forward to, _non_?" Lebeau added a little bitterly.

"Damn, we were hoping that you might have been able to get the low down on Hebblethwaite," Hogan said.

"Hebblethwaite?" Lebeau asked. "Is that his name? Hmph, the English and their names!"

"Anyway, roll call is in a couple of hours, and I don't know about you, but I could use some sack time. Kestrel, can we offer you the comforts of our humble home?" Hogan asked. He knew she was worried about Hebblethwaite, but there was nothing they could do at the moment. They were all tired, including the girl. Woman, Hogan corrected himself, from the looks of her, she had ceased being a girl years ago.

"A dry spot of floor will be fine for me," Kestrel said. She rubbed her cheek were the lash of a branch had left a stinging scratch when they had dived for cover. Her fingers came away covered with grime and she grimaced. "And a quick wash if that's possible."

"I think we can do a bit better than the floor," Hogan said. "Kinch, is the cot available?"

"Yes, it even has a dry mattress and blanket. There's some water and a bit of towel in there too."

"Excellent. Newkirk, would you care to show Kestrel our guest quarters?" Hogan asked.

"My pleasure," Newkirk said, he was still gazing longingly at Kestrel, but wasn't going to risk touching her again. "This way, if you please, madam." He gave a courteous bow and gestured towards a curtained off alcove.

Kestrel picked up her rucksack and gave a little curtsey in return, laughter dancing in her eyes. "Why thank you, kind sir."

Newkirk escorted her into the small room and came out again fairly quickly, his offer to help her wash up firmly turned down.

"She's quite a bird," he said admiringly when he rejoined the others. "We've never had one like her down here before, Colonel."

"That's for certain, just be careful and don't try anything with her," Hogan advised.

"Well, a fella has to try, doesn't he?" Newkirk asked.

"Just don't try so hard that she breaks something- like your arm, or your neck." Hogan waved a stern finger at him, confident in the knowledge Newkirk would ignore the advice. "Alright, everyone up stairs, it's well and truly past our bed times." He shooed his crew towards the ladder.

"I'll stay down here until roll call," Kinch said quietly to Hogan as the other three headed up.

Hogan nodded, pleased that the precautions were taken without him having to give a direct order. "You'll be okay?"

Kinch gave his small, enigmatic smile, "I'm not the one who's been running round the forest all night."

* * *

**Authors note**: Inspiration for Kestrel has come from a number of sources, most particularly from Nancy Wake, known as the White Mouse by the Germans because they couldn't catch her. A New Zealand born Australia agent, she lived and worked in France and was, at once time, the most wanted person on the Gestapo's list with a 5 million franc price on her head. Trained in combat and sabotage, she is known to have killed at least one man with her bare hands, so Kestrel's reactions aren't that far off reality for agents such as her.


	9. Chapter 9 Unwelcome But Expected News

_Brief note: this chapter has been reposted after a valid comment by Abracadabra. I had taken out a chunk about Kestrel, now I've put it back again._

**Chapter 9- Unwelcome But Expected News**

"Raus! Raus! Everybody up!" Schultz yelled as he stormed into the barracks a couple of hours later.

Around the barracks men groaned and grumbled as they woke from deep sleep. The normal collection of morning complaints sounded around the barracks.

Schultz whacked the side of Newkirk's bunk, making the exhausted man jump. "Everybody up! Roll call!"

"Schultz, cut that out!" Newkirk moaned at him.

Carter swung his legs out from under his blanket and started to pull on his still dirty coverall. "Couldn't you let us sleep in just this once, Schultz?" he asked.

"Oh, Carter, you should not have tried to escape," Schultz said, "The Big Shot was very upset, VERY upset and when that Captain von Stalhein said he couldn't throw you in the cooler. Oh my! Why did you have to do it?" He sounded so pained that Carter patted him on the shoulder.

"Would it help if we promised not to do it again?" he asked.

"It would if I believed you," Schultz said.

"Well, what can you expect, Schultzy?" Newkirk asked, sliding down from his bunk and finding his uniform. His right shoulder complained a little from the wrenching Kestrel had given it just a few hours before, "With that those ruddy great holes in the fence and all, are you surprised if we try to make a break for it?"

"No, I guess not, but don't do it again, the Big Shot has issued orders that anyone caught within 10 feet of the gaps in the fence is to be shot on sight," Schultz said.

"Shot on sight?" Newkirk protested, several others also raised their objections. "Blimey, anyone would think this was a bloody prison camp."

"Morning, Schultz," Hogan said as he breezed out of his office and went straight to the stove to pour himself a cup of coffee. "How's the Bald Eagle this morning?"

"Colonel Hogan, _please_ don't call him that," Schultz objected, "He's not happy with you, not at all! You should have stopped Carter and Lebeau trying to escape last night."

"I couldn't Schultz," Hogan said mildly.

"Why not?"

"Because I was trying to escape myself. You see, I had a date with this really pretty girl who..."

"_Don't_ tell me!" Schultz cut him off quickly, "I don't want to know. Everybody outside for roll call in five minutes." He left quickly before he was forced to hear something he didn't want to.

Hogan yawned into his coffee and rubbed his eyes. He was tired. They were all tired. With days spent repairing the barracks and camp before the next storm hit and nights spent digging out the tunnels or dodging patrols in the forest, none of them had had more than a couple of hours sleep in any given day. He gulped down the rest of the brew, wishing for the thousandth time that it was real coffee and actually did something to help wake him up.

"Alright, everyone, lets go see what our beloved Kommandant has in store for us today," he said to the assembled men and they all trooped out.

It was still dark outside, but the compound lights were on and chasing away the shadows. All over the camp men were lining up outside their barracks to be counted by their guards, all of them tired and yawning in the chilly morning air. Above, the moon was setting and the stars shone in the clear air.

Outside Barracks 2 Schultz quickly counted his charges, pleased to see that everyone was there, and everyone was who they were supposed to be.

A few minutes later Kommandant Klink strode out of his office. "Repooooorrrtt!" he demanded.

Schultz quickly saluted. "All present and accounted for, Kommandant," he dutifully reported.

"Excellent," Klink said. He tucked his riding crop more firmly under his arm. "Prisoners of Stalag 13, there was an attempted escape last night," he said, raising his voice so at least a few groups of prisoners could hear him directly, for everyone else his words were relayed through the guards. "I am pleased to say that the attempt was unsuccessful and the guilty parties will be punished severely."

A little way down the row from Hogan, Lebeau muttered darkly in French.

"The no-escape record of the camp remains intact and once again proves that this is the toughest POW camp in all of the Third Reich," Klink continued. "From today new security measure will be put in place. Recreation periods are cancelled and all prisoners not assigned to work parties are confined to barracks until further notice. Anyone found outside their barracks without leave will be shot on sight."

That roused the usual protests from the gathered prisoners as the barracks guards relayed the orders to all 20 barracks. Over 400 unhappy men voiced their opinions at once.

"Kommandant, I must protest!" Hogan shouted out across the noise. "There's already over-crowding in several barracks, and now you're going to confine us to quarters?"

"Those are my orders, and they will be carried out to the letter," Klink said, putting all his inconsiderable force of personality behind his words. "Diss-missed!" He flipped the assembled multitude a salute, and went back inside.

All over the camp the guards herded the prisoners back into their barracks.

"Hey, what about breakfast?" Newkirk demanded as he was shoved back towards the door by one of the guards. He wasn't answered. When all the men were inside, the door was barred from the outside.

"That was bloody charming," Newkirk stated and gave the door a vindictive kick.

"Enough of that," Hogan said. "It's not like we weren't expecting it. Let's get our guest up and start planning."

"I'll go," Newkirk volunteered.

"I thought you might," Hogan said, "Just remember what I said last night. Handle with care."

"Yes, sir," he replied flippantly and headed for the tunnel entrance.

Lebeau dug into one of the lockers and pulled out enough stored food stuff so that in their barracks at least the men wouldn't go hungry. There was no way of knowing if they would be allowed to go to the mess hall for what passed for food in the prisoner's kitchen.

Newkirk soon appeared, climbed up through the bunk and reached down to help Kestrel up the last few rungs. Around the barracks the assembled men whistled appreciatively. Kestrel gave them a friendly smile.

"Morning, boys," she greeted them. She received several 'good mornings' back again. She had changed out of her black clothing and was clad in trousers, a knitted turtle-neck sweater, jacket and sturdy walking shoes. Anyone who met her would take her as a young woman off on a terribly healthy hike through the countryside.

Newkirk had a red patch around his left eye which looked like the start of a spectacular shiner.

"What did you do?" Hogan asked him wearily.

"Nothing!" Newkirk protested, "I went to wake her up, and next thing I know I was flat on my backside."

"My fault, Colonel," Kestrel said, "I punched him in the eye before I'd woken up properly. My friends know to shake my foot, not my shoulder."

"You were right, sir, handle with care."

Hogan damped down a towel and handed it to Newkirk who held it gratefully against the side of his face.

"Would you like some coffee, Kestrel?" Lebeau asked, holding out a chipped mug.

She took it and Lebeau filled it with ersatz coffee. "Thanks." She made a small face at the sour taste of the chicory, but drank it anyway.

The crew and Kestrel gathered around the central table for their conference. Several of the other men, not directly involved with the core group headed back to the tunnels to continue digging their way to the cooler.

"Okay, we need a bit of an idea about what's going on here," Hogan said, taking the head of the table. "Situation so far- von Stalhein has Hebblethwaite and has leaked information to the underground and thus to London that Hebblethwaite is in a camp with storm damage, so easy to get into. Unfortunately it's a trap. On his side he has a hostage and he's turned our beloved Stalag into one big snare. On our side we have us," he nodded to the assembly, "And an agent he doesn't know anything about. So far the situation is our favour, apart from the fact that we don't have a working radio. Kestrel, how long do you think it will take Bigglesworth to get here?" Hogan asked.

"Another ridiculous English name," Lebeau muttered. "Who ever heard of someone called 'Bigglesworth'?"

"I'll be pleased if you didn't insult my countrymen, thank you very much," Newkirk replied to Lebeau who returned a friendly sneer then turned an expectant gaze on Kestrel.

"Don't ask me about English names, I'm not British," Kestrel said and shrugged.

"You're not British?" Hogan asked, surprised. "Where are you from?"

Kestrel shook her head. "I'm afraid that's on a need to know basis, but if you are wondering about my loyalties- don't."

"American?" Carter asked.

Kestrel was silent but gave him a look which said exactly nothing.

Hogan let it drop for now, but it didn't stop him from wondering. Not British and she didn't sound American. In fact now that she felt safe her true accent was coming out and he couldn't quiet place it, it didn't seem to be quite one thing or another. "So, how long?"

"I don't know it depends on how quickly the leak reaches him. It may be tonight, it may take a couple of days. I need to get in touch with London and find out," Kestrel said.

"We should have the radio fixed tonight if London gets us the parts on time," Hogan said. "Kinch what's the status of the aerial?"

"Finished installing it last night during the disruptions, Colonel," Kinch reported, "It's back in the flag pole and ready to go once we get the radio fixed."

"Well done, we'll be able to get the news we need. Can you get in touch with Squadron Leader Bigglesworth?" Hogan asked Kestrel.

"Yes, through the Air Ministry and their resident Intelligence liaison, Air Commodore Raymond," Kestrel said. "With any luck Biggles won't have left. If he has that going to make life more difficult."

"Will he try to get in to camp straight away?"

"I don't think so. He's not stupid, far from it. Chances are he will already know about your operation through Raymond, Biggles will have gone to him first."

"For permission?" Hogan asked.

"No, to tell him." Kestrel said with a small snort of laughter and shook her head, "I don't know how he gets away with it, but he does. The difficulty will be stopping the rest of the squadron coming too."

Hogan raised a questioning eye brow. "Sounds like an interesting set up."

"The 666 is a unique squadron within the RAF," Kestrel said, "It's made up of those who don't easily take to the discipline of the standard military structure. They don't exactly follow military procedure to the letter, but they get things done."

"Sounds like fun. In case you don't manage to contact Bigglesworth before he arrives, we'll need to set up surveillance, bring him in through the tunnel before the patrols spot him," Hogan said. A map of the camp was spread out on the table and the damaged fence and barracks were marked. "These routes are going to be left open for easy access into the camp," he said, pointing to two areas. "My guess is that von Stalhein is going to have men posted around in these areas where there is cover, but still a good view of the entry points. Kestrel, you think Bigglesworth _won't_ come in to camp?"

"I don't think so; he'll case the place first, not march straight in."

"Let's hope so. If we need to we'll set up our surveillance posts here, here and here and here," Hogan said, pointing to four areas, two by each entry point. "Grab him before he gets near the fence."

"How about all those ruddy patrols outside the wire?" Newkirk asked.

"Yes, the entry points may be kept clear, but the rest of the woods are going to be crawling with goons," Lebeau added.

"It's going to be a job to keep our guys clear of the Germans," Kinch added.

"And that's assuming that Bigglesworth doesn't get nabbed before he gets close," Newkirk finished.

"It's not going to be easy," Hogan said, "There are far too many factors outside our control. The best option is getting in touch with him before he arrives, but we have to plan for contingencies." Hogan turned to Kestrel who had been studying the map intensely, her whole body tense. "How well do you know Hebblethwaite? Is he likely to talk? About you, I mean."

"I know him very well," Kestrel said, "And no, he's not going to give up his information easily, but no one can hold out for ever."

"We really need to get through to the Cooler and see how he is, and to warn him about what's going on," Hogan said. "The moment he cracks and mentions you, von Stalhein is likely to move him. Realistically he doesn't actually need to be here, just the rumour that he is here."

"That's true," Kestrel said. She was lacing and unlacing her fingers. "I hope von Stalhein hasn't hurt him too badly," she said softly.

"We'll get him out," Hogan promised, "One way or the other."


	10. Chapter 10 Von Stalhein Again

**Chapter 10- Von Stalhein Likes Making Life Difficult**

"Colonel!" Lebeau's voice echoed down the tunnel.

Hogan handed the bucket he was passing along the chain to Corporal Phelps and went to the bottom of the ladder leading to the barracks above. Lebeau's anxious face looked down. "What is it, Lebeau?"

"Schultz is waiting to take you to the Kommandant," Lebeau called down, "He's waiting outside."

Hogan nodded and headed up the ladder. He climbed into the barracks and released the mechanism to drop the bunk back over the tunnel entrance. He struggled out of the old flight suit he wore over his uniform and with a parting nod to Lebeau headed to the barracks door. The door was no longer barred and he went outside.

"You were looking for me, Schultz?" he said jovially.

"Colonel Hogan, all prisoners are confined to barracks," Schultz whined, "You were not in the barracks!"

"Yes I was, you saw me come out didn't you?"

"But you weren't there five minutes ago when I went in," the big guard said.

"But I'm here now, aren't I?" Hogan asked.

"Yes, but where were you before?"

"Well, I was down in the tunnel helping a British agent who I helped break into camp last night tunnel through to the cooler," Hogan said quite truthfully, "She's really pretty, Schultz, you'd like her."

"Colonel Hogan, I don't want to hear it," Schultz said, "I know nothing and I don't want to know anything."

"Whatever you say, Schultz, but she really is very pretty."

"Ja?" Schultz asked, intrigued, "What is she like?"

"She's about so tall, dark blond hair, slender," Hogan started describing Kestrel, "Shaped sort of like this," he sketched her curves with his hands, exaggerating just a little, "Oh, and she could break your arm without even blinking."

"Hmph, jolly joker," Schultz muttered. "The Kommandant wants to see you."

"Oh, what does our beloved Kommandant want now?" Hogan asked.

"I don't know, but he wasn't at all happy with Lebeau and Carter for trying to break out last night."

"You can't blame them for trying," Hogan said. He set off across the yard with Schultz scrambling to keep up.

When he arrived in the Kommandantur he exchanged a quick kiss with Hilda before going to knock on the inner office door.

"You wanted to see me, Kommandant?" he asked as he poked his head through the inner office door. To his disgust, von Stalhein was in there was well, drinking schnapps with a smug look on his face. Schnapps! At 11am!

"Hogan, come in," Klink said and got up from behind his desk. "Captain von Stalhein, may I introduce Colonel Hogan, senior Prisoner of War officer."

"We have met," von Stalhein said coolly, "I had words with Colonel Hogan concerning his insolence."

Klink blenched. "Colonel Hogan, you've probably been wondering why I didn't throw Carter and Lebeau in the cooler after their foolish attempt to escape last night."

"I was wondering," Hogan said, "You're usually not that lenient."

"Don't mistake delay for leniency," Klink warned. "They will be punished and brutally."

"You're cruel, sir," Hogan said, "To give them their liberty knowing that the full extent of your wrath is soon to descend on them. When will that be again?"

"When my operation is over," von Stalhein said.

"Right, right," Hogan agreed and asked innocently, "And how long is it likely to take? You see the men are getting restless."

Von Stalhein laughed, "Very clever, Colonel Hogan. You are not as naive as you appear."

Hogan back pedalled quickly, the last thing he wanted was for von Stalhein to become suspicious of him. "I'm only interested in the welfare of my men, Captain. Since the storm my men have been living in overcrowded conditions and now they have been restricted to barracks, well, there may be problems."

"Problems?" Klink asked.

"My men are almost all airmen, Kommandant, not infantry used to living in difficult, overcrowded conditions. They are used to a bit of space," Hogan said.

"Hogan, it is up to you to maintain discipline in the camp," Klink said as he waved a finger at him.

"How can I maintain discipline when I'm confined to barracks?"

"I hadn't thought about that," Klink muttered.

"You want the freedom of the camp?" von Stalhein asked with a small smile, "So you can keep an eye on what is going on, plan an escape maybe?"

"I'm only concerned for my men," Hogan shot back. "I don't want them hurt and you've made sure that any escape attempt would be suicide."

"I don't see that there is any danger in Colonel Hogan being able to visit the other barracks during daylight hours," von Stalhein said with a small, self-satisfied smiled, "Under guard, of course."

"Of course," Klink agreed with a sigh of relief. "Colonel Hogan, you will be allowed to visit your men, to keep them in line and let them know that I will tolerate no breach of the rules. Anyone found outside the barracks that is not part of the work party, or under guard, will be shot on sight."

Hogan shrugged, "That sounds fair."

"Colonel Klink," von Stalhein interjected smoothly, "I think that some close monitoring of your prisoners over the next few days would not be uncalled for."

Klink nodded. "And there will be random barracks inspections and bed checks. Just to make sure."

"Sure of what?" Hogan asked.

"That there have been no escapes."

"How could anyone escape from the Iron Colonel? After all, there has never been an escape from Stalag 13 and that's all down to you, sir," Hogan said sweetly.

Von Stalhein chuckled again. "Colonel Hogan, you are an interesting man, locking horns with you could be very stimulating, but I have other fish to fry, as I believe you Americans say."

Hogan felt anger surge like a cold incoming tide through his stomach. How could that man just stand there and talk so calmly about trapping, torturing and killing someone, he thought angrily. "I'm just a prisoner of war," he said aloud, "I have nothing to hide."

"You may return to your barracks, Colonel Hogan. Sergeant Schultz will be on guard, if you want to visit the other prisoners, he will escort you. Wait outside. Dismissed," Klink said, throwing a salute at him.

Hogan returned the salute and headed to the outer office where Schultz was passing the time flirting with Hilda. "Schultz, our beloved Kommandant wants you," Hogan told him, just as Klink's voice sounded from the inner office, bellowing his name. Schultz sighed heavily and went in. Hogan picked up with Hilda where Schultz had left off.

A few minutes later Schultz came back out again. "Colonel Hogan, I'm to escort you around the camp."

"I know, but I'm heading back to my barracks first," Hogan said as he headed for the outer door, "Are you coming?"

Schultz scrambled to catch up.

"I feel sorry for you, Schultz," Hogan said as they crossed the yard.

"Sorry for me? Why?" Schultz asked.

"You're going to have to be up all night doing bed checks."

"Ha, I only have to do three barracks, Colonel Hogan," Schultz said, "Barracks 1 at midnight, then yours, then Barracks 3, then I am going straight to bed. I was up all last night on patrol and my feet are still hurting."

"It must be tiring, especially when the dogs want to go off chasing rabbits," Hogan commented.

"How did you know that the dog wanted to go chasing rabbits?" Schultz asked.

"Wouldn't you if you were a dog?"

They reached the barracks and Schultz prudently stayed outside where he wouldn't be obliged to see any monkey business. Hogan went over to the tunnel entrance, banged on the bunk and called down when it was open. Kinch quickly came to the bottom of the ladder and looked up.

"How soon until breakthrough?" Hogan asked.

"We should be through by mid-afternoon," Kinch reported.

"Good, I should be back by then."

"Where are you going?"

"Just around the camp, you know- to keep the men in line."

"How did you swing that?" Kinch asked in admiration.

"Von Stalhein isn't as clever as he likes to think. It's too good an opportunity to waste."

Kinch nodded. "We'll keep digging."


	11. Chapter 11 Breaking Through

_**Chapter 11 Breaking Through**_

"Colonel, we're through!" Newkirk called down the tunnel.

Kestrel, Lebeau, and Carter cleared away the rest of the debris while Newkirk and Baker slotted new supports into place to prop up the roof. Hogan quickly joined them and pitched in to move the last of the splintered wood and rubble. It had been a satisfactory day so far. He had got one over Klink and von Stalhein, he had been able to talk to the heads of all 20 barracks and arrange an around the clock watch for strangers, and now they had access to the cooler again.

"Good work everyone," he said, "And it's only 1300."

"Kestrel worked like a maniac, sir," Newkirk said, whacking the last support into place.

Kestrel straightened, putting her hands in the small of her back and pushing her spine back into place. "It's been a while since I've worked like this," she said, "How do we get into the cooler?"

"Come with me," Hogan said and lead the way past the now cleared blockage under the prison block. The floor was still slick with damp from the floods, and a line on the wall showed that at one point the water had been ankle deep.

"The cooler is above us," he said to her. There were a number of ladders leading off the tunnel and rising to the building above. "There are two layers of cells, upper and lower. We need to find out which one Hebblethwaite is in and if there is a guard on his cell," he said quietly. "Stay here."

Hogan climbed the first ladder, a short one which led to a passage behind the lower cells. He paused and listened for a moment at one of the gaps in the masonry. Not a sound. Slowly he pushed the block out of the way and slithered through the gap into the lower guard post. The stove had not been lit and none of the lights were on. The air was damp and chilly and there was a distinct scent of stale air and mould. The place had a neglected feeling and Hogan was fairly sure that no one had been down here since the storm. To make sure that there were no prisoners confined in the miserable cells, Hogan tip toed from one to the next, peering through the inspection hatches into each of the cramped 8 by 10 foot cells. No one, thank heaven.

Hogan slipped back down into the tunnel. Kestrel was still waiting for him. "He's not in any of the lower cells," he reported. "We'll have to be more careful with the upper layer, there are more guards there. You take that ladder, there's a spy hole built into the air vent cover, take a look around then come back down and report."

Kestrel nodded and quickly climbed the ladder. Hogan scaled another ladder and, as quietly as he could, made his way to another spy hole. Between the two of them they could see the entire corridor. Peering through the carefully disguised spy hole Hogan examined the corridor.

"Damn."

There was a guard sitting outside one of the cells. Hogan looked again and saw the guards head was down. A quiet snore echoed down the corridor. He chuckled softly and slid back down the ladder. A moment later Kestrel joined him.

"There's a guard," Kestrel said.

"Yeah, and he's asleep."

"It won't take much to wake him up," she said.

"Or to put him asleep again," Hogan said with an evil grin. "He's not one of ours, so he won't recognise one of my men dressed up in a kraut uniform bringing him a nice cup of coffee with a good dose of Mickey Finn in it."

"Colonel Hogan, you are truly evil," Kestrel said.

"One does one's best."

15 minutes later Newkirk slipped in through one of the trap doors and straightened his uniform before rounding the corner with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. In a German uniform and with a bit of make-up to hide the developing bruise around his eye, he looked every inch the Nazi soldier. As Hogan and Kestrel watched from the hidden entrance, the guard on duty quickly woke from his doze and jumped to his feet.

"Guten tag," Newkirk said, "Möchten Sie einen Kaffee?"

"Danke, danke," the guard said, taking the steaming cup and sipping it appreciatively. "Ach, it is cold down here. This is just what I needed."

"Ja, cold. It must get boring, guarding just one prisoner," Newkirk observed.

The faint rattling of chain on stone reached the ears of the hidden listeners and Kestrel's face lost all expression.

"There is only one at the moment," the guard said conspiratorially, "But soon there will be another."

"Oh ja?" Newkirk asked, "You are expecting a visitor?"

"Ja, an English spy, some time tonight or tomorrow. Those English pigs think that they can just waltz into our beloved Germany and take what they want?" the guard snarled, "We will show them, we are no easy target. The spy will be caught, and he will suffer."

"Like this one?" Newkirk asked, looking dispassionately at the prisoner through the bars of the cell.

"This one?" the guard scoffed, "This one is nothing, a mere boy, but he gives us practise for what we will do to every enemy of the Third Reich."

The two of them laughed heartily, and then Newkirk left him to his coffee. Kestrel and Hogan met him in the tunnel as he divested himself of his guard's top coat and jacket. Kestrel was pacing a short path back and forth in her agitation.

"He'll be sound asleep in, oh, five minutes," Newkirk said. "I put enough sleeping pills in his coffee to knock out an elephant."

"How's Hebblethwaite?" Hogan asked.

"Not good, guv," Newkirk reported, his face perfectly serious for once. "He's chained to the window bars and it looks like they've worked him over pretty good."

"I need to speak to him," Kestrel stated firmly.

"Give the guard five minutes," Hogan said, "And then we can go in."

Newkirk placed his hand over Kestrel's as she went to climb the ladder again. "He's alive, miss," he said, "That's a good start. Don't worry, we'll get him out."

"Thanks corporal," Kestrel said. She climbed up the ladder and curled up in the nook to wait until the guard fell asleep.

"How bad is he?" Hogan quietly asked Newkirk.

"He's been tortured, Colonel," Newkirk replied just as softly, "They've been pretty rough on him, so he's not going dancing any time. Even if we can get him out, I don't think he'll be in any condition to take the escape route."

Hogan nodded. "Thanks, we'll deal with the next problem when we get to it. I'm going in with Kestrel. Wait down here for us."

"Will do, guv."

Hogan climbed the ladder one more time and joined Kestrel.

"He's fallen asleep, Colonel," she reported.

"Excellent, can you reach that catch there?"

Kestrel undid the catch Hogan indicated and he swung the whole panel outwards.

"Very clever," she whispered then ducked out and into the corridor. Hogan was close behind her as she ran, light footed, to the cell.

"Oh, God, Ginger!" she cried softly and grasped the bars, pulling desperately at the door.

Hogan frisked the sleeping guard for the key and unlocked the cell door. Kestrel pushed her way past him and into the small cell to kneel beside the figure seated on the floor against the back wall and gathered him carefully into her arms. The injured pilot was shackled at the wrists and a chain ran from his bonds to the bars of the narrow window above with just enough slack for him to sit with his arms above his head. He wasn't going anywhere in a hurry.

"Clare?" the red haired prisoner whispered in disbelief as he opened his eyes and looked upon the one who held him so tenderly.

His face as badly bruised and swollen, blood from a cut above his right eye stained the side of his face. His uniform jacket and shirt were open, the buttons ripped off his shirt, revealing extensive bruising and contusions on his torso. Hogan swallowed his instinctive sympathetic pain as he quickly examined the young man for terminal injuries. He had wrenched joints and possibly cracked ribs, but it didn't look like any of his multiple injuries were life threatening.

"I'm here, Ginger," Kestrel said quietly, tears dripping down her face. She looked over his injuries quickly and her face darkened. "That bastard, I'll kill him."

"I've had worse," he said with a weak smile, "My Da could teach these Nazis a thing or two about how to hurt a person. What are you doing here? How did you find me?" His eyes darted to Hogan and around the cell, taking in the sleeping guard and the open door in one sweeping glance. His eyes lingered on the open door for just a moment before returning to Kestrel's face.

"When you didn't show up at the rendezvous point I put word out through the underground network. I found you fairly quickly," Kestrel told him. "Then when you were moved here I got in touch with Colonel Hogan and, well, here I am."

"Von Stalhein- he's set a trap, for Biggles, he keeps on boasting about it," Hebblethwaite said and tried to sit up straighter in front of an officer. At the movement he winced and coughed painfully.

"I'll get some water," Hogan said and took the guards now empty cup to the sink near the entrance. He rinsed out the cup and re-filled it, taking it back to the cell where Kestrel was speaking softly to Hebblethwaite, her face expressionless but her eyes filled with sympathetic pain. Hogan passed the cup over to her and she held it to the young pilot's lips. He drank gratefully.

"You must be Colonel Hogan," Hebblethwaite said, he tried to salute but was hampered by his bonds.

"I am, Kestrel's filled me in on the situation, Hebblethwaite," Hogan said. "Don't worry; we'll get you out some how."

"I don't care about that," Hebblethwaite said, "The important thing is stopping von Stalhein from getting his hands on Biggles. Colonel Hogan, you have to stop him from coming, if he does von Stalhein will kill him."

"I know, we're going to make sure that doesn't happen, and get you out of here too. Have you said anything to von Stalhein about Kestrel here?"

"No, he still doesn't know what my mission was. Clare, he knows nothing about you."

"Does he know about the operation here?" Kestrel asked.

"No. There's an underground operation here?"

"The less you know the better," Hogan said grimly. The pallor of the young man's face, the dark shadows under his eyes and the lines of pain and stress were ample demonstration of his waning strength. If von Stalhein continued to torture him, Hogan couldn't be sure how much longer he would be able to hold out, even knowing that there were people fighting for him. It pained him to think that he would have to leave the man here, locked in a dismal cell and at the mercy of a sadist, but they had no choice.

"We have the advantage, von Stalhein won't know what hit him and we'll be able to hear him throw a fit all the way from London," Kestrel said. She leaned down and kissed him tenderly. "I'm sorry, Ginger, this wasn't supposed to happen."

"I knew the risks when I asked for a secondment to the 138th," he said, "I just didn't quite expect it to turn out this way."

"Neither did I," Kestrel said. "We'll get Biggles, and we'll get you out. We'll all be on our way back to England by weeks end and you'll be back in the air giving hell to the Nazis in a month."

"Biggles will never let me out on my own again after this. Your family, did you get them out?" Hebblethwaite asked.

"Some of them. Those who still live and are free are now safe," Kestrel told him. "But the rest… They're gone."

"I'm sorry, Clare."

"There's nothing that can be done about it now," she said with deep sorrow. "The underground units are established, and I got all five of my targets out of the country. Mission a complete success, apart from the last bit."

"Kestrel, we have to go before another guard comes," Hogan said, mentally filing away the new information. Kestrel had family in Germany? Just who was this woman?

"Go on," Hebblethwaite urged her. "Get going, I'll be fine."

"I'll be back for you," Kestrel promised him and they parted with a final kiss.

Their eyes were fixed on each other as Hogan closed and locked the cell door.

"Hold in there, soldier," Hogan said in parting.

"Yes, sir," Hebblethwaite responded. "Look after her. She's strong, but…."

Hogan nodded and pulled Kestrel away, back towards the tunnel entrance. She snapped herself out of the reverie and ducked back into the tunnel and down the ladder as Hogan closed and latched the hatch.

She was pacing back and forth when he finally joined her.

"Clare?" he asked.

"That's my real name," she said, "Before you ask, my main mission in Germany was to help establish and train new underground units and to find and help a number of key figures to defect."

"You have family in Germany?"

"Had," Kestrel corrected him. "Those who have survived this long are now safely in England, those who aren't are dead or as good as dead. I don't want to talk about it."

Hogan nodded and dropped the matter. Kestrel's pain was evident in her voice. "Come on, there's not much we can do now until tonight. You need a good stiff drink and some rest."

"The stiff drink will be welcome, but I don't know if I will be able to sleep."

Despite her words Kestrel did sleep, with the help of a left over sleeping pill Hogan slipped into her shot of home-distilled whiskey. She swallowed it in one go, gasped a little, then a few moments later was sound asleep.

"It's not nice to drug your guests, Colonel," Newkirk said mildly as he helped arrange her on the cot in the alcove.

"She won't be of much use to us if she doesn't get some rest," Hogan replied, pulling the blanket over her shoulder, "Nor will you. Go upstairs and get some sleep, I'll need you tonight to get the new radio."

The crew headed back to the barracks to get some much needed rest. Many of the prisoners were already dozing or asleep, making the most of the enforced idleness now that the tunnel to the cooler was once again in operation.

"Do you think she'll be alright?" Newkirk asked as he levered himself up onto his bunk, "I mean I know she's strong and tough, but it can't be easy, knowing there's nothing she can do."

Hogan sighed and rubbed at his stiff neck. "It depends on what happens tonight," he said. "If Hebblethwaite dies she will blame herself and probably us, and then I have no idea what she's likely to do."

"Are you considering a snatch and run?" Kinch asked.

"Only as the last option," Hogan replied. "I'm not going to sit back and let von Stalhein kill him. I'd rather it was done outside the camp, but if we have to…"

"Can't we use a dodge?" Newkirk asked, "You know, come in as SS or something with orders to turn him over, get him out of camp that way?"

"I don't think so," Hogan said. "Von Stalhein doesn't seem the type to let an order like that deter him, after all, why would anyone else be interested in the fate of a single pilot, especially one who hasn't been entered into the POW register. He could vanish and no one would be any the wiser."

"We're stuck all right," Kinch said sadly.

"So is Hebblethwaite," Carter added.

"Now let's not get defeatist," Hogan said, "We still have an ace or two up our sleeves. The new radio is due tonight, all we have to do is hook it up and we're ready to fly again."

"Yeah, but it's the waiting that's the hard part," Newkirk said.

* * *

**Authors note**: like many things about HH, the configuration of the cooler seems to change season to season, so I just made it up to suit the story.


	12. Chapter 12 Just Dropping In

_A warning for a small amount of understandable bad language- on Newkirk's part of course._

**_Chapter 12- Just Dropping In_**

Evening roll call came and went before Hogan and the rest of his crew returned to the tunnels. They had all had a chance to catch up on a bit of much needed sleep during the afternoon and were ready for action. Kestrel was just waking up when they reached her alcove.

"I know you wanted me to sleep, Colonel," she said as she combed her fingers through her pillow mussed hair, trying to settle it back into place. "You didn't need to drug me, I can sleep practically anywhere." She must have read the look of consternation on Hogan's face. "I know you drugged me, Colonel, otherwise I wouldn't be having this amount of trouble waking up."

"I suppose I should have asked first," he admitted with a shrug, then handed her a cup of coffee.

"No matter," Kestrel said, "At least I slept well. What's on for tonight?"

"The new radio," Hogan replied, "Then you can get in touch with London and see what's going on with your Squadron Leader Bigglesworth."

"And to check in, the last they heard from me was about a week ago," she said and yawned into the cup. "Excuse me." She headed back into the alcove where a basin and pitcher of water were waiting for her.

Hogan went back to the radio room and gathered his troops together.

"Newkirk, Carter, the plane is due at 2200 at map reference H3," he said as he read over the note Schnitzer had dropped down the tunnel what felt like a life time ago. "Go out in German uniform. Newkirk, what do you have in stock?"

"A bit of everything, guv," he said. "Do you want infantry, Luftwaffe, Panzer, SS or Gestapo? Officer, enlisted or NCO?"

"Better make it infantry, one enlisted and a senior NCO, just in case you get stopped by a patrol," Hogan said. "And Carter, if anyone does stop you, let Newkirk do the talking."

"What's wrong with my German?" Carter asked.

"Have you ever heard of a German soldier with a Mid-western drawl?" Newkirk said, and pushed him towards the sewing room and their extensive wardrobe.

"I'll have you know I pulled off Hitler!" Carter protested as he stumbled away.

"God only knows how you managed that!"

"Are they always like that?" Kestrel asked as she emerged again, the hair around her face damp and her cheeks rosy from the cold water.

"You get used to them in time," Hogan replied.

A few minutes later Newkirk and Carter were back looking every inch the German soldier. Kestrel shuddered slightly as she studied them. They straightened their Werhmacht uniforms and checked weapons.

At the end of the emergency tunnel Lebeau manned the periscope, studying the area around the emergency exit for any sign of patrols.

"Nothing, Colonel," he reported dutifully.

"Right Newkirk, Carter, remember- von Stalhein has pulled the patrols back from the gaps in the fence but they're still out there, don't take any chances. Out and back in again as soon as you have the new radio."

"Yes, sir," Newkirk replied, tucking his pistol into his holster.

"Out and in again, gotcha, boy, er, sir," Carter added.

"Good, now take care and don't talk to any strangers."

"Yes, dad," Newkirk said and headed for the ladder.

The pair scaled the ladder and were out a few moments later.

"Will they be all right?" Kestrel asked.

"They've been doing this for years," Hogan said.

"But you still worry about them," she observed.

"Every time they go out alone," he admitted. "They'll be fine."

"You have great faith in them, and they in you," Kestrel said quietly. "That's why you can work as such an effective team. You know you are a lot like Biggles."

"I am?"

"Yes, both intelligent, stubborn, quick witted, cunning, concerned about your men, willing to put your lives on the line, and those of your men when need be," Kestrel said, "but of course he doesn't have your American cockiness, he's far to British for that. Still, he's left von Stalhein foaming at the mouth more than once before."

"I'm looking forward to meeting him," Hogan said, and he was. Bigglesworth and his crew sounded like an interesting bunch.

"You will soon enough, I have no doubts about that."

"Do you know von Stalhein at all?"

"Only by reputation, and through what Ginger, Biggles and the others have told me."

"What's he like?"

"Intelligent, stubborn, quick-witted, cunning, willing to put his life on the line."

"That's how you described Biggles, and me for that matter."

"You're all very similar; the major difference is that von Stalhein is a crook and you and Biggles aren't. Von Stalhein serves himself first and foremost, where as Biggles serves his country and his friends," Kestrel said. She pulled her jacket closer around her body and shivered a little. "The world would be a more dangerous place without Biggles in it."

"What about your friend Ginger? What's his place in the whole scheme of things?"

"Ginger is more or less Biggles adopted son. He's been watching over Ginger since his father kicked him out of home about ten years ago," Kestrel said. "So you see it isn't just concern for one of his men, its more than that."

"Bringing family into war doesn't make fighting it any easier."

"I know," Kestrel said softly.

"You have family in Germany?"

"You heard that? Damn," Kestrel said. "Yes, I had family in Germany. One of the reasons I joined the SOE was to try to locate them and get them out before Hitler and his Nazis could slaughter them like so many sheep."

Hogan realised the implications of what she was saying. "They're Jewish?"

"One branch of my family is, or at least they have enough 'tainted' blood to make them targets," Kestrel said angrily. "That's why we left Germany when we did, my father could see what was coming."

"You're German?"

Kestrel nodded, "Time to come clean. Yes, I was born in Germany, in Trier on the banks of the Moselle River. We left when I was seven and went to Australia. My mother died on the voyage out, my father got work as a wine maker near Melbourne and married again. We were very happy until the war started. My father and uncle were arrested and interned in a prison camp near Tatura, I was left with my step-mother." She spoke softly, but there as simmering anger, fear and sadness colouring her voice. "I heard about what was happening in Germany, and I was angry that my father, who had lived quietly and without causing anyone any harm for almost 15 years, was arrested as an enemy alien. I wanted to fight back, so I went to England to make my contribution and through one thing and another ended up training as an SOE agent. That way I could find and extract my family while I undertook my missions- setting up underground networks and assisting defecting civilians. That's what I've been doing for the last year."

"I have to say I'm impressed," Hogan said. "Not many girls would have the guts to do what you've done."

"Well, there is a war on you know," Kestrel said. "Actually, what I'm doing isn't entirely without precedent in my family- my mother was an ambulance driver in the first war. She taught me I could do and be anything I wanted if I was willing to put in the effort."

"How do you know Hebblethwaite and Bigglesworth?"

"I've done some work with the 666 squadron," Kestrel said. "Working with a Special Duties squadron is a bit different to a standard outfit, but that's something you would know all about." She studied the tunnel with an eloquent eye.

Hogan chuckled. "We're a small firm, but we've had our successes."

* * *

"This is the drop point," Newkirk said, crouching down in the brush. They had had an interesting time dodging the patrols through the darkened forest but still made it to the rendezvous point on time.

"There's the plane," Carter said. They could hear the drone of the engine getting closer. He raised his binoculars and watched the plane approached. "One red, two white, one red," he reported as the plane signalled.

"That's the one," Newkirk said and flicked his flash light on and off in reply.

A few seconds later they saw the white blossoming of a parachute in the night sky. Newkirk frowned, it looked larger than the brolly usually used for a small cargo drop. He caught Carter's eye and jerked his head towards the landing spot. Together they slithered through the undergrowth into the clearing where the cargo had landed.

The 'cargo' stood up and started divesting itself of its parachute. He, they were fairly sure the person was a 'he' suddenly froze, and spun towards them. Moonlight glinted off the barrel of the gun he held steadily in his hand.

"Show yourself," a cultured English voice said with quiet authority.

Newkirk motioned for Carter to stay low while he stood and walked forward a few paces. The man saw his German uniform and the pistol was immediately trained on his heart with an unwavering hand.

"Identify yourself," the voice commanded, the repeated himself in flawless German.

"Corporal Peter Newkirk, RAF. Papa Bear sent me to pick up a package," Newkirk said, not trying to hide his Cockney accent. "I wasn't expecting the package to be a person."

The man didn't lower his weapon, it was still pointing straight at Newkirk. "Do you know what type of birds you find around here?"

If this was a recognition code it wasn't one that Newkirk was familiar with, but there could only be one thing he was referring to. "You can find kestrels around here, at certain times of the year."

Now the gun was moved away and Newkirk breathed a small sigh of relief.

"I'm Squadron Leader James Bigglesworth," the man said. "I thought that since I was coming anyway, I would deliver your new radio myself."

"Oh bloody hell."

* * *

Von Stalhein stood on the porch of the VIP hut and listened as the sound of an aeroplane engine grew louder, and then softer as it moved away. He smiled, a tight, unpleasent smile. "Welcome, Major Bigglesworth," he murmured, "This time you won't get away from me."

* * *

**Authors note**: Tatura is a small town in rural Victoria and was the site of one of several internment camps for 'enemy aliens' living in Australia. Some held single males, some held families. One of the other major camps was in Hay in NSW, which is in the middle of absolutely bleeding nowhere- look it up if you get the chance.

**Second authors note**: Von Stalhein called Biggles "Major" because that was his rank during their first encounter during WW1 and between the wars, and was the equivalent of "Squadron Leader".


	13. Chapter 13 All In A Night's Work

_**Chapter 13- All In A Night's Work**_

Hogan paced a short path back and forth through the radio room watched by Kinch, Lebeau and Kestrel. He was worried. He always worried when any of his men went out without him, and this time the odds were even more heavily stacked against them. What if they ran into a patrol? What if they were spotted by one of the tower guards? He had no way of checking on them, no way of calling for back up if things went really wrong.

He took himself firmly in hand and told himself to settle down, Newkirk and Carter had done this type of thing dozens of times before under conditions just as volatile and had always come through without a scratch. And they were in German uniform, which tipped things in their favour.

None of these reassurances stopped him from worrying or made the knot in his stomach any smaller.

"Relax, Colonel," Kinch said, "They'll be fine."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Hogan said. He looked at his watch. It was only 2230, still half an hour before Newkirk and Carter were due back and an hour and a half before the scheduled midnight bed check. "I'll be happy when they're back, and even happier when we get the radio."

A few minutes later a sound from the emergency tunnel indicated the return of their couriers. Each of the watchers breathed a sigh of relief.

"Dad, we're home," Newkirk called down the tunnel, taking off his German helmet as he entered the radio room. "And, um, we found a new friend."

"Friend?" Hogan asked. "Newkirk, I thought I said not to talk to strangers."

An unknown man in an RAF officer's uniform stepped into the room, Carter bringing up the rear.

"Not exactly a stranger, sir. Colonel Hogan, Squadron Leader Bigglesworth," Newkirk introduced them.

Hogan winched his jaw back into place as the man saluted and returned the gesture. "Squadron Leader Bigglesworth, welcome to Stalag 13. We were expecting you, but not quite like this."

"I didn't think it was worth making two trips," Bigglesworth said, "Here, this, I believe, is yours." He passed over a carefully wrapped package.

"The radio?" Hogan asked.

"The radio," Bigglesworth agreed.

"Squadron Leader," Kestrel said, and came smartly at attention, presenting a very neat and proper salute.

"Section Officer King," Bigglesworth greeted her as he saluted back, "I'm glad to see you're safe and well."

"Section Officer?" Newkirk yelped.

"Wait a minute, you're a WAAF?" Hogan exclaimed, very close to yelping himself.

"Section Officer Clare King," Kestrel said, and saluted him with a broad grin, "I suppose I owe you a salute."

Hogan returned it automatically, slightly shell shocked by yet another revelation about the woman. How many more shocks were to come from her? Maybe she was a distant cousin of Hitler, or Colonel Klink was her uncle, or she was directly related to King George.

"You didn't tell them?" Bigglesworth asked. Kestrel shook her head and Bigglesworth gave a slightly exasperated sigh. "She's very good at keeping secrets."

"Ruddy charming," Newkirk muttered, "I got punched in the eye by an officer."

"I did say sorry," Kestrel said.

"Have you got any more surprises for us?" Hogan asked testily.

"I don't think so," Kestrel said. "I think I told you the most relevant points."

"Is Clare King your real name?"

"Actually its Clara Koenig," Kestrel said, "But Clare King is the direct translation. I was a radio operator with the 666 squadron before I transferred to the 138th and joined the SOE. That's how I know Biggles, Ginger and the others."

"How come a German born woman could become a radio operator with a special duties squadron?" Kinch asked.

"They didn't know I was German, at least not at first," Kestrel said. She glanced over at Bigglesworth. "The Squadron Leader here had me arrested on suspicion of espionage when they found out, but I was cleared and that's when I was offered a chance to train as a spy."

"Which she has done very well," Bigglesworth put in.

"That explains a few things," Newkirk said. "Come on Carter, let's get out of these kraut uniforms."

Bigglesworth watched them go. "An impressive set up you have here, Colonel. Now that the pleasantries are concluded, we have things to discuss. Is Ginger alive?"

"Yes," Hogan told him seriously, all frivolity put aside. "Von Stalhein hasn't been easy on him, and he was pretty badly knocked about when he arrived here, but he's still alive."

"I will have words with my dear friend Erich before this is over," Bigglesworth promised, his voice hard. "I am to understand from London that you wish to avoid drawing attention to yourself in this matter, so stealing him out from under the German's noses is out of the question."

"It's a last resort is all else fails," Hogan said. "We've got a job to do here, and we can only do it if our beloved Kommandant Klink is in command. I doubt that we'd get another keeper who was so easy to manipulate."

"I understand. This is going to take some thinking about. Has von Stalhein seen your face?"

Hogan nodded. "I've had a couple of discussions with him."

"That's going to complicate things. I'm afraid you won't be able to take an active part in any rescue, Colonel. Von Stalhein has an excellent memory for faces and he isn't often fooled by disguises."

"We have two options," Hogan said, thinking out loud as he paced and short path back and forth across the room. He needed to take control of the situation immediately. Bigglesworth evidently had extensive experience in this type of operation and Hogan wanted to maintain control rather than defer to the Englishman. "First we can work quickly. We have a window of opportunity here, the plane which dropped you off would have been noticed. It won't take von Stalhein long to figure out you're likely to have come with it, so we could take advantage of that, maybe lead him into a trap. Or we could take it slowly, wait until the heat is off, convince him you're not coming, or you've come in somewhere else, draw him out of the camp. The first is risky because we don't have much time to plan, the second is risky because the longer we wait, the more time Hebblethwaite is in von Stalhein's clutches and the more likely he is to talk."

"I would prefer fast," Bigglesworth said. "I have my directive from Air Intelligence, get in, get Ginger and Clare, and get out. I don't want to leave Ginger in von Stalhein's hands longer than is absolutely necessary- he has a rather volatile temper and has a history of trying to kill members of my team. So far he hasn't been successful. I also have to check in once your radio is operational."

"Of course, Kinch, get on it."

"Already done, Colonel," Kinch said. He had been working at wiring in the new set while the officers were busy talking. He handed the microphone to Hogan.

Behind them, Newkirk and Carter rejoined the group huddled around the new radio.

"Papa Bear calling Goldilocks, Papa Bear calling Goldilocks, come in Goldilocks," Hogan said. Nothing.

Kinch adjusted the frequency a little, "Try it now, Colonel."

"Papa Bear calling Goldilocks, Papa Bear calling Goldilocks, come in Goldilocks," Hogan tried again.

"_Goldilocks reading you loud and clear, Papa Bear," _the reply came_. "It's good to hear from you, we thought that the hunters had got you."_

"Thank God, it works," Hogan said, then pressed the transmitter. "Not a chance, Goldilocks, we're a bit battered and bruised, but still in one piece. Stand by." He handed the microphone to Bigglesworth.

"This is Falcon," he said, "I need to speak to Eagles Nest immediately, can you patch me through?"

"_Will do, Falcon, they've been waiting for your call. Stand by."_

"Eagles Nest?" Hogan asked, "Isn't that the Air Ministry?"

"Yes," Bigglesworth said.

Hogan was impressed, not many agents could go straight to the top, or be bold enough to do so.

"_Falcon, this is Eagles Nest," _the voice came back. The voice was aged, but strong_. "Go ahead."_

"Air Commodore Raymond," Bigglesworth told Hogan. "Eagle, I have arrived at Papa Bear's den and Kestrel is with me."

"_That's good news, Falcon. What is the status of your lost chick?"_

"I have reports that he is hurt, will give you an update when his status is determined. As predicted the bird catcher is in the neighbourhood and has his nets spread wide."

"Bird catcher? Von Stalhein?" Hogan asked Kestrel quietly. She nodded.

"_Understood, Falcon. Do you have estimated time for return to the nest?"_

"Not as yet, will keep you advised."

"_Better make it fast, Falcon, your other chicks are already restless."_

Bigglesworth gave a small chuckle. "I'll make it as fast as possible, just keep them on base and don't let them get into trouble."

"_It won't be easy, but I'll keep them in line even if I have to threaten court-martials."_

"Thanks Eagle, will check in again..." he looked askance at Hogan who held up seven fingers. "0700. Over and out." He passed the microphone back to Kinch. "Your new radio works."

"That's one of the strongest signals we've ever had," Kinch said, thrilled at the operation of the new set.

"_Goldilocks calling Papa Bear,"_ the radio crackled to life again. _"Come in Papa Bear."_

Hogan picked up the microphone again. "This is Papa Bear, go ahead Goldilocks."

"_Request status update of your den."_

"Den is still damaged, Goldilocks, further operations not possible until our birds have flown, the hunters have stopped circling and repairs can be completed."

"_Understood Papa Bear, your unit is confirmed out of action until further notice."_

"We'll be back up and running in a couple of days. Papa Bear out."

Hogan looked at his watch. It was almost midnight. "Klink is going to do a bed check just after midnight," he said, "In ten minutes. Will you two be alright down here for a while?"

Both Kestrel and Bigglesworth nodded.

"Right, everyone, upstairs and into bed like good little lambkins so daddy can make sure we're all safe and snug."

"Must you sir?" Newkirk asked, giving him a disgusted look.

Hogan flashed him a grin and headed back up the ladder.

* * *

**Authors note: **WAAF- Women's Auxiliary Air Force. There were quite a few WAAF officers serving as SOE agents in clandestine operations, particularly in France. Nancy Wake wasn't a WAAF, but there were several others. At least 16 WAAF SOE agents are listed, several of whom died in the line of duty under the most hideous of conditions.

**Second Authors Note**: On Sgt. Moffit's suggestion I am adding my personal background to this story.

This has been something of an exploration of my family's history for me. My mother's family is German, my grandfather's side was Jewish and my grandmother's side had Jewish ancestry even though both of them claimed to be Lutheran by faith. They left German in 1938, just before the war started, staying just long enough for my grandmother to grab her doctorate before they ran, some of the last to leave Germany as migrants instead of refugees. They were lucky to get out, many cousins and relatives didn't and were killed during the Nazi madness which followed.

In Australia they shared a tiny two bedroom flat with my great aunt and uncle who had left the year before and together they started a chocolate making business. When the war started my grandfather and great-uncle were arrested and interned at the Holsworthy camp near Liverpool, an outer suburb of Sydney. I don't know why my grandmother and great-aunt were not, maybe because they had a business to run. I would like to have asked my grandmother about that time while she was still with us, but she didn't like to talk about those times. Considering what would have happened if they had stayed in Germany, they got off fairly lightly.

For all that the events themselves were terrible, no one in the family has ever regretted the outcome. Of course, no one in my family ever did the type of things that Kestrel has done!


	14. Chapter 14 Planning

_**Chapter 14- Planning**_

Hogan closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep when he heard the barracks door open. Ten minutes after midnight, right on time. If nothing else, he had had to give the Germans credit for punctuality.

Voices murmured beyond the door- Schultz reading off names as he checked each of the bunks and their inhabitant, and sleepy protests as men 'woke' to a flashlight being shone in their faces. Hogan smiled a little, amused at the skill with which each man in the barracks played their parts, whether they were part of the core team or not.

He wriggled a little, trying to find a comfortable spot on the lumpy straw stuffed mattress, then stilled as his door opened and two sets of footsteps approached. Schultz put his feet down surprisingly lightly for a man of his size, while Klink tended to scurry like a rodent even when he was moving slowly. Light was shone in his face and he struggled to keep from flinching when the bright light pierced his eyelids.

Midnight bed checks, random barracks inspections, regular searches of both person and belongings. Each violation of privacy and person was yet another humiliation to add to the sour feeling in his heart. He knew he had a duty to perform here, but life as a supposedly helpless prisoner was galling. One day it would be over, then he could walk down the road without looking over his shoulder, go into a cafe or bar without checking for danger first, spend some time with a pretty woman without wondering if she was one of the enemy. He yearned to go into his own home filled with his personal belongings, close the door and know that no one else had any right to enter without his permission. No shouted orders, no guards, no responsibility for the lives of others, no constant draining fear and anxiety.

"All present and accounted for," Schultz reported loudly, no more than a metre from his ear.

_Okay, enough!_ Hogan thought and opened his eyes, glaring at the two Germans. "Hey, people are trying to sleep here," he protested.

"Don't complain to me about being awake in the middle of the night," Klink shot back, "I still have another 18 barracks to check before I get to go to bed."

"At least you have a real bed," Hogan groused. "I'm going to have permanent dents in my back from this bunk before the war is over."

"Hmph," Klink grunted eloquently in reply.

"How much longer before thins are back to normal?" Hogan asked, "The way you're running things at the moment I have a mind to complain to the Red Cross."

"I don't know," Klink said, throwing his hands up in exasperation, "Von Stalhein thinks it will only be a few more days at most, then he'll be out of my hair."

_So to speak_, Hogan added silently. "What's he trying to do?" he asked innocently, "Maybe we can help."

"Only if you can lure one particular spy here," Klink said mournfully, "One spy, in all of Europe. What are the chances of that?"

_Only one? I have two down stairs_. "That's a pretty tall order," he commiserated.

"Well, standing around talking isn't going to get the inspection done," Klink said and stalked off again.

Hogan gave it ten minutes before he pushed back his blanket and pulled his jacket on. Out in the barracks the rest of his core team also emerged from their downy couches while the others grumbled and fidgeted a little before settling down to sleep again.

In the radio room Hogan found Bigglesworth and Kestrel pouring over maps of the area and quietly discussing options. Kestrel glanced up the moment he appeared, her body tense for action, then relaxed when she saw who it was. She gave him a small smile and nudged Bigglesworth gently with her elbow. He tore his attention away from the map and straightened to greet Hogan.

Hogan nodded to the pair and waited as the rest of his team joined him. In those few moments Kestrel and Bigglesworth exchanged a few more quiet words and in that short space of time Hogan was able to catch a glimpse of why Kestrel held Bigglesworth in such high regard. Although Bigglesworth was old enough to be her father and outranked her by several degrees, they spoke as equals with great respect for each others abilities.

"Is everything alright?" Bigglesworth asked.

"Fine," Hogan replied. "Colonel Klink wants von Stalhein gone as soon as possible."

"He's not completely stupid then," Kestrel said.

"I think we've got the beginnings of a plan," Bigglesworth said, "We're going to need your local knowledge and some of your men."

"What's the plan?" Hogan asked. He had his own plan brewing away in his head, but he was interested to see what the two spies would come up with.

"We have a window of opportunity," Bigglesworth said, "By morning von Stalhein will be aware of last nights fly over and will probably extrapolate my presence. Your operation is too valuable to risk stealing Ginger out from under von Stalhein's nose- if we did he would tear the place apart looking for me, so we have to get both of them out of camp and put you out of suspicion. My plan is to make it appear that I was hurt during the jump last night, that I've been caught and neutralised. Make him think that he's won, that he's got me helpless and at his mercy. I'm not a betting man, but I would lay odds that if he thinks that I can't fight back, he'll bring Ginger when he comes to collect me with the intention of taking us somewhere more secure."

"This will only work if it's staged away from any built up areas," Kestrel added, "Away from any backup or easy access to police or von Stalhein will start to wonder why it's taken so long for the report to come through. A farm would be the safest option, one without easy communication access."

"This is the area we're considering," Bigglesworth said, indicating an area on the map. A small village of maybe a dozen houses stood in a cleared area in the middle of the forested hills to the west of Hammelburg, about 6 miles distance from the camp. There were a number of farms indicated on the map.

"I know this area," Lebeau said, the pointed to one of the farms. "I met an underground agent here once, the farm was abandoned a few months ago, but the house and the buildings are still intact."

"That would be perfect," Bigglesworth said, "We're going to need help. In order to pull it off, we need to keep von Stalhein feeling that he's in control right until the last moment, otherwise he'd either going to balk or come in with all guns blazing."

"I'd rather avoid that if we can," Hogan agreed. So far he had managed to keep most of his operations relatively bloodless, save for a few blown up cars and troops on several munitions trains. He always felt slightly guilty about those killed during their operations, particularly those caught up by accident, but it was war and he didn't try to fool himself that acts of sabotage would ever be without casualties. He was particularly grateful that none of his men had ever been killed or seriously injured during their most dangerous operations. There were always so many things which could go wrong, even in the most carefully planned mission- shot by guards or a patrol, discovered by the police and arrested, betrayed by Gestapo plants or traitors, even turned in regular citizens who noticed their activities.

"The most believable scenario would be an elderly farming couple," Kestrel said, "I will be the women, and will need someone else to play my husband. We have found Biggles hiding somewhere near the farm, he's injured and can't fight back."

"How about it Newkirk?" Hogan asked, "Do you feel like playing farmers?"

A slow grin crept across Newkirk's face.

"I can give you a matching black eye, if you want one," Kestrel said when she noticed his leer.

"Don't worry, you'll be safe with me, luv," he promised.

"But will I be safe from you?" Kestrel asked.

"All right, enough," Hogan said, cutting off their banter. "It's a good plan so far. So you set the scene, what's next?"

"We place a phone call through to the Hammelburg police, reporting my capture," Bigglesworth said. "Von Stalhein will have primed the authorities to notify him if any British fliers are captured in the area. He comes to get me, and ambush."

"Von Stalhein won't turn up without backup," Hogan said, "He arrived in camp with Leutnant and at least one other guard and since then he's brought in at least three more, not to mention all he spares he's brought in to pad out ours for 24 hour patrols. Anyone would think he doesn't trust Klink's guards."

"Would you?" Kinch asked.

Hogan conceded the point. "My guess is that he'll come with at least four and I would rather avoid bloodshed if possible, the blood that gets shed could be ours."

"I'd rather avoid that too," Bigglesworth returned just as seriously. "Can we rely on your help for this?"

Hogan glanced at his gathered crew. Their lives were on the line in this caper, more than usual, in fact. Von Stalhein did not seem like a man who would take kindly to being crossed and if he realised that the participants in this little escapade were not German, the first place he would look would be Stalag 13. Lebeau, Carter and Kinch all nodded solemnly. "Fine, we'll do it."

"You'll have to stay quiet once it's started," Kestrel said, "If von Stalhein hears any foreign accents he'll be back here like a shot. I'll do the talking, I speak German like a native."

Hogan was glad that she was thinking the same way he was. "Understood. A couple of small changes. Going through the police in Hammelburg is dangerous, they may decide to come and arrest you themselves, then you could find yourself in gaol in town and then von Stalhein will have two prisoners. We'll skip the middle man and Kinch will phone through the news."

"You can do that?" Bigglesworth asked, surprised.

"Easily, we've got taps in the phone and Kinch can do a very convincing German accent. It will take careful timing, but we've done it before."

Kinch mimicked picked up a phone, "Hauptmann von Stalhein?" he asked in an extremely convincing accent, "This is the Oberst der Schutzpolizei, in Hammelburg. We've had a call from a farmer in Wartmannsroth, they have captured an English pilot, injured when he tried to parachute into the area last night."

Bigglesworth's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hair line. "Very convincing," he complimented after a moment to regain his equilibrium. "Do you know the name of the chief of police in Hammelburg?"

"Christian Bock," Hogan said, "We know all the civilian officials in the area."

"You have a very well run organisation, I'm glad I don't have to match wits with you. We will, however, be short a man for the ambush," Bigglesworth said.

"Don't worry about that, I'll be able to find enough volunteers," Hogan said confidently.

"That will take one unknown factor out of the plan," Bigglesworth said, nodding his approval.

"When you've got von Stalhein, what do you plan to do with him? Get rid of him?" Hogan asked.

Bigglesworth shot him a disapproving look. "I don't go around arbitrarily killing people, Colonel."

"Von Stalhein is your enemy, you've said so yourself," Hogan pointed out. "He's tried to kill you more than once, he hurt your friend, I think you've got a reason for killing him."

"Reason, yes, if I was going to use that as justification. Von Stalhein will be brought to justice eventually," Bigglesworth said, "In court of law. If we met each other in the air, in battle I wouldn't hesitate to shoot him down given half a chance, but to kill a man at my mercy. No."

"It's your plan," Hogan said coldly, "I just hope that your sense of honour doesn't come back to bite all of us in the backside."

"That's what we're trying to work out here," Bigglesworth returned just as coldly.

"We'll make sure von Stalhein can't come after you," Kestrel said, diffusing the growing tension between the two men. "I'll meet von Stalhein at the door, bring him inside, then a two pronged attack- one outside to overpower any soldiers he brings with him, one inside to overpower von Stalhein and anyone he brings in with him."

Hogan calculated risks. "We're going to need at least four outside and three inside. I'll take command of the outside team."

"I'll command the inside team," Bigglesworth added firmly. "Me, Clare, and Newkirk."

"Fine, Carter, Lebeau, you'll be with me, and we'll need at least one other," Hogan said. "I'll get in touch with the local Underground unit and ask for a couple of men we've worked with before. After we've disabled them we'll come back to camp, Hebblethwaite is going to need time to rest and some medical attention before you start back to England."

"Is he that badly hurt?" Bigglesworth asked, concerned.

"He was well enough to joke about it when I talked to him earlier today, yesterday," Kestrel said, "But he'll need some rest before we head back."

"You spoke to him?"

Kestrel nodded, "There's a tunnel leading to the cooler."

An array of conflicting emotions crossed Bigglesworth's face before he gave a small sigh and his shoulders dropped just a little. "I would like to see him, make sure he's alright," he said, "But it wouldn't be sensible. The less Ginger knows, the less he may accidently give away. Von Stalhein would notice immediately if his demeanour changed." He straightened up again, his moment of depression put behind him.

"Soon," Hogan promised. "Getting you out of camp is going to be tricky. Bigglesworth, you can go out in German uniform, fit in with one of the patrols then slip away- that's what we're going to be doing too. Kestrel, you're a bit more difficult."

"We could get in touch with Schnitzer," Lebeau suggested, "Get her out in the dog truck."

"That will only work if we have a distraction, keep the guards from paying too much attention to him," Kinch said.

"That can be done," Hogan commented. "Barracks 14 is still being repaired, the guys from there have been bunking in Barracks 15 and working on the roof during the day. The rec hall is also having some repairs done. We should be able to manage a distraction. Kestrel, Schnitzer will take you there, can you start preparations by yourself?"

Kestrel nodded.

"Good, we'll set kick off for 1900, just after evening roll call. In the mean time, we'll get in touch with Schnitzer to get Kestrel out and provide us with some transportation to the farm," Hogan said. "Newkirk, see to your disguises, Lebeau, give him a hand. Everyone else, get some rest."


	15. Chapter 15 Lets See If This Works

_A/N: I hate it when characters run off with the script and start going on about things you had no intention of discussing. But since they insisted, I had to go along. Thanks to Keschte for helping with what the boys might be craving for breakfast._

_**Chapter 15- Lets See If This Works**_

Morning roll call came far too early for the men of Barracks 2. After yet another long night, they had managed just a few hours sleep.

Schultz came barging into the barracks banging on bunks and shouting in his usual objectionable manner. "Raus! Raus! Roll call in five minutes, everyone up, raus!"

"For once could you come in quietly?" Newkirk moaned, rubbing his sleep encrusted eyes. "Maybe with a nice cuppa, that would make a pleasant change to all this ruddy shouting."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Newkirk, would you also like toast and jam as well?" Schultz asked with sarcastic sweetness.

"A fresh croissant with jam would go down nicely if you're offering, Schultz," Lebeau said, dropping to the floor and finding his trousers. He yawned widely, "And a cup of real coffee."

"Eggs Benedict for me," Mills called out in perfect New York accent.

"I haven't had haggis for breakfast for a while," McCray, the Scots RAF man said, "Do you think ye could lay ye hands on a bit of that? And a couple of eggs as well."

"Haggis isn't food," Lebeau sneered.

"Do ye want to come over here and say that?" McCray retorted hotly.

"Who said anything about breakfast?" Schultz asked as loud conversation erupted around him.

"A couple of poached kippers with butter and toast, for me, thanks Schultz," Newkirk said throwing back his blanket, "Since you're taking breakfast orders."

"Who's taking breakfast orders?" Hogan asked as he came out of his office.

"Schultz is making us all breakfast," Carter reported. "I was about to ask for pancakes and maple syrup."

"Porridge for me, thanks Schultz," Barton, a recent addition to the limited ranks of the RAAF prisoners, requested politely.

"Porridge?" Hogan exclaimed in return, "We get that every day!"

"No, proper porridge, with fresh peaches and sugar and cream straight from the dairy," Barton clarified, "Like my nanna used to make when we visited her on the farm."

"Sugar, ye great pansy?" McCray scoffed, "Porridge should be made with just a wee bit of salt."

Barton ignored him as he pulled on his jacket, but was heard to mutter something uncomplimentary about the Scottish and their eating habits under his breath.

"Well in that case," Hogan mused, "I could use a ham omelette, some bacon and a couple of hashbrowns, Schultz."

"I am not taking breakfast orders!" Schultz protested loudly and indignantly. "I'm here to tell you roll call in five minutes."

"You said that three minutes ago, it's two minutes until roll call now," Carter said, pulling on his jacket. "You really need to learn to read time properly, Schultz."

"I _can_ read time properly!" Schultz shouted, "And it's time for roll call."

"So, no breakfast?" Newkirk asked, and then ducked out the door as Schultz snarled at him.

The morning's line up was graced with the presence of von Stalhein who was studying the assembled prisoners suspiciously. After Schultz had made his report- no one missing, and no one added- von Stalhein stalked forward and examined each of the prisoners in minute detail.

He knew, Hogan was sure, he knew that Bigglesworth had arrived. He maintained his poker face as the Captain reached him.

"Can I help you with something, Hauptmann von Stalhein?" Hogan asked innocently.

"You, I do not trust," von Stalhein said coldly. "Have you seen or heard of anyone in camp who should not be here?"

"Apart from you?" Hogan asked, the words slipping out before his internal censor could tell him what a bad idea it would be provoke him.

Von Stalhein gave a humourless chuckle. "If I have time after my business here is concluded, we may have an opportunity to discuss your attitude in more detail."

"What do you want, von Stalhein?" Hogan asked, not rising to the bait.

"I hunt spies," von Stalhein said, "And I will catch my prey, never doubt that."

"Well there aren't any new prisoners, if that's what you're asking," Hogan said, "But go ahead and check if you don't believe me."

"Be sure I will, and hope for your own sake that I don't find any, otherwise I shall have cause to investigate this camp more closely," he replied.

Hogan bit his tongue to stop himself from biting back; it wouldn't achieve anything and could endanger the whole operation. He and von Stalhein held each others gaze for a few more seconds before the German gave a small, mirthless chuckle and deliberately broke the contest, walking nonchalantly away. Hogan wanted to throw something at the receding back.

Half an hour later, and after a less than satisfying breakfast, all the prisoners not on work detail were back in their barracks to wait out another day of dull confinement. At least that was what their German captors thought.

"I wish I hadn't mentioned pancakes," Carter said as they all filed back into Barracks 2. "I'd love a good big stack, dripping with maple syrup and real butter. You know my aunt used to make the best pancakes, all light and fluffy…"

"Carter, put a sock in it," Newkirk said. "We really don't care how good your aunt's pancakes were."

"I was just saying," Carter returned, his tone tinged with hurt.

"Enough," Hogan said, cutting off the brewing argument. "Kinch, go get in touch with Schnitzer, tell him what's going on. Lebeau, I know you're not going to like doing this, but we need a reason for the krauts to call Schnitzer in before tonight."

Lebeau scowled, he didn't like deliberately hurting any living thing, especially the dogs he had spent so long befriending. "The dogs won't like it."

"I know, I'm not asking you to do anything drastic, just enough to call the vet," Hogan reassured him. "Well need to monitor the phone tap so we know when Schnitzer is coming. In the mean time, let's get this show on the road."

Kestrel put the last touches to her make up. Hogan was stunned that such an attractive young woman could turn herself so effectively into rather plain, wrinkled and frumpy old woman. A scarf tied over and around her head hid her hair and neck and the careful application of pencil and brush gave her lines, wrinkles and discolouration spots on her otherwise smooth skin. Some padding around the waist and hips broadened her figure and a loose dress and shawl completed the assemblage. She walked with a stoop and the help of a cane.

"If I didn't know better I'd say that you were my grandma," Hogan said.

Kestrel laughed and straightened into her usual posture. "It's all in the attitude," she said. "Give off the air that you are an old, feeble woman, and the rest will follow."

"You should see Carter in action one day," Newkirk said as he also finished putting together his fake beard and farmer's outfit he would be wearing that night, "It's down right creepy seeing him turn into a German officer."

"Carter?" Kestrel asked, incredulous.

"Doesn't seem likely, but he's smarter than he looks," Newkirk replied, making sure Carter wasn't around to be embarrassed by the praise.

Lebeau returned down the tunnel, rubbing at his hand and looking upset.

"How did it go?" Hogan asked.

"Bismark bit me," the Frenchman said. "And I don't blame him; I wouldn't like one of my friends to stick a thorn in my foot."

Hogan took the offended hand and examined it carefully. It was bruised, but thankfully the skin hadn't been broken. "Are you okay?"

"He didn't bite that hard," Lebeau added, "Just reflex, and he did apologise after."

"That's good. Monitor the phone and wait for the krauts to call up Schnitzer," Hogan ordered.

Lebeau nodded and headed for the radio room where Kinch was relaying instructions to the underground to prepare the chosen farm for the operation.

Newkirk finished his fine tuning and took Bigglesworth into the clothing storeroom. When they emerged half an hour later, Bigglesworth was in a Luftwaffe private's uniform and helmet looking every inch the German soldier. His own RAF uniform would be going out with Kestrel and Schnitzer. As predicted, the German uniform was a bit musty after the flooding in the tunnels, but would do well enough.

Bigglesworth adjusted the collar a little, a small smile on his lips. Hogan was puzzled, was that pleasure or reminiscence? Bigglesworth caught his expression of incomprehension.

"This is not the first time I've dressed in a German uniform," Bigglesworth explain, "Although last time it was a Leutnant's uniform. I was in Norway on a mission when the Nazis invaded and needed it to escape detection; especially after von Stalhein got wind I was there*. That was a close run thing."

"You wear it frightening well," Hogan said. He was intrigued by the colourful career the Squadron Leader seemed to have had, and longed for a chance to hear more about it. Maybe after the operation was over. "Are you all set?"

"I come up through one of the damaged barracks when the guard changes at noon, assemble with rest of them and march straight out the gate," Bigglesworth said. "For sheer gall I think this part of the plan takes the cake. Have you done this before?"

"Not exactly," Hogan said, "But something similar. With all the patrols out there we can't use the usual day time routes. When you get out there, go with the patrol until you reach the woods, then split off and head for the rendezvous point, Schnitzer will meet you there with Kestrel then take you to the farm. We'll meet you there after evening roll call, just after dark."

Bigglesworth nodded. "We'll be ready."

"Colonel Hogan!" Lebeau called down the tunnel.

"Yes, Lebeau?" Hogan asked as they trooped into the radio room.

"Langenscheidt has just been on the phone to Schnitzer about Bismark," Lebeau reported.

"That was quick."

"Oui, Langenscheidt isn't a bad sort, for a kraut, and he does care about the dogs," Lebeau said with grudging approval. "Schnizter gave him an earful about taking care of the dogs, and said that he'll be here 1130."

"Excellent, I'll go talk to the guys on the work party and arrange the diversion. Bigglesworth, that will give you a chance to slip in among the rest of the guards," Hogan said.

"Jawohl, Herr Oberst," Bigglesworth said in a perfect German accent, the wicked twinkle in his eye belying his perfectly straight face and stern tone. Everyone in the room jumped with shock.

"Don't do that!" Hogan exclaimed.

"And here he says he doesn't have a sense of humour," Kestrel muttered darkly.

1130 was approaching fast. Hogan watched the compound through the periscope in the water barrel just outside Barracks 2. His nerves were twanging. Everything relied on split second timing.

Right in schedule Schnitzer's truck passed through the gates and pulled up in front of the dog run. Hogan hoped that it had been noticed by the other look outs and that the diversion happened. As he watched the guard in the tower overlooking compound, just visible on the edge of his field of vision, abruptly turned away and stared intently into the distance, swinging his gun around. Hogan grinned and stamped twice on the floor, the signal for Kestrel to get moving.

As smooth as clockwork Schnitzer went into the run to find the injured Bismark and take him back to the truck. The rear doors of the truck hid the run and what was going on there from Hogan's view, but the truck dipped abruptly as though a weight heavier than a dog got into it. Just as smoothly the doors were closed, Schnitzer got in and drove off with only a brief pause at the gate.

Part A of the plan had come off without a hitch. Hopefully the rest would run just as easily. He lowered the periscope sites and breathed a sigh of relief. "So far so good," he said to Lebeau, the only one of his crew not below ground helping to coordinate events.

"Lets hope everything else works as well," Lebeau said a little sourly.

"Ever the optimist, as usual," Hogan said. He glanced at his watch, half an hour until roll call, then with luck Bigglesworth would be on his way as well. His stomach was knotted and he spent the next half hour pacing silently, his mind turning over the plan and all its contingencies.

Finally Kinch popped his head up through the trap door. "Bigglesworth is safely away, Colonel," he reported.

Hogan breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks Kinch," he said. Two of the wild cards in this operation were in place, now they just had to wait until night when his crew could join them, complete the mission and life would get back to what passed for normal.

* * *

* For anyone who is interested, the reference Bigglesworth made to Norway was from "Biggles Defies the Swastika", where he spends most of the book one step ahead of von Stalhein while trying to get information about the Norwegian invasion and German navy movements to England. He had fun in that adventure- drafted in to the Luftwaffe, then accidentally becomes a Gestapo agent, almost shot down in a dog fight with Ginger of all people (Biggles was flying a Luftwaffe plane at the time and Ginger was feeling belligerent so it was understandable), captured, at last!, by von Stalhein, escaped with much daring do, stole a plane and headed back to England with Ginger and co, hurrah!


	16. Chapter 16 A Nervous Wait

_**Chapter 16- A Nervous Wait**_

"Colonel Hogan, von Stalhein is heading towards the Cooler."

Hogan dropped the book he had been staring at without reading for the past half hour and dashed out of his quarters, nearly bowling Lebeau over as he headed for the trap door.

"How long ago?" he demanded as he slapped the bunk.

"Only a minute or so," Lebeau reported.

Hogan clattered down the ladder and ran along the tunnel heading to the Cooler. If Hebblethwaite was injured or killed by the German, he had to know before the events planned for tonight. Choosing the right ladder, he climbed up into the nook he had shared with Kestrel the previous day. Had it really only been 24 hours ago?

Peering through the spy hole he watched as von Stalhein traded salutes with the guard on duty, one of his own men, and went into the cell. He strained to hear anything that was said.

"Hello Erich," Hebblethwaite's voice came. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Don't toy with me, boy," von Stalhein snarled back, "Where is Bigglesworth?"

"If he's sensible, in England," Hebblethwaite replied reasonably. "Where did you expect him to be?"

"You know very well where. Have you seen him or spoken to him?"

"What do you think? I've been locked in here for how long now? Three days? The only people I've spoken to are you and your guards."

"He is here, I know he is," von Stalhein stated. "Where is he hiding?"

He was, Hogan realised, getting desperate. He was glad the rescue was planned for that night, the longer they held off the more enraged von Stalhein would become and the more likely it was he would take that frustration out on the one captive he already had.

"I don't know, I haven't seen him. Oof!"

There was a clatter of chains on stone and an audible gasp.

"Where is Bigglesworth!" von Stalhein bellowed.

"I don't know!" Hebblethwaite yelled back.

"What was your mission in Germany?" von Stalhein demanded in a softer tone.

"Are we back to that again?" Hebblethwaite asked, his voice strained. "I told you, I was on a joy flight."

Hogan winced at the answer. There was the sound of another blow.

"Don't be foolish, boy," von Stalhein said. "I will get what I want out of you, one way or the other. Save yourself a lot of discomfort and tell me what I want to know. What was your mission in Germany?"

"Flying Officer Hebblethwaite, RAF, serial number 541893," Hebblethwaite said defiantly.

"You're beginning to try my patience."

"I didn't know you had any."

There was the sound of a gun being cocked. Hogan closed his eyes and muttered a quick, silent prayer. If von Stalhein killed Hebblethwaite, Kestrel was going to do something they would all regret; he could feel it in his gut.

"I should have shot you years ago," von Stalhein said, his voice dripping with venom.

"You had plenty of opportunities, you're the one who called the firing squad off," Hebblethwaite replied. His voice was calm, but there was tension underneath, and more fear than he could truly hide*.

"I could kill you now, you don't actually need to be alive to trap Bigglesworth," von Stalhein said quietly. "This time you're a soldier, and I suspect a spy, I have every right to shoot you here and now."

Hogan tensed and released the catch on the hidden panel. If von Stalhein looked like he was going to go through with his threat, then he would have to act. The only sound to break the silence was Hogan's tense breathing as crouched, ready to spring into action.

"No," von Stalhein finally said after what felt like lifetime. "You still have some value."

Hogan breathed a sigh of relief.

"When I finally have Bigglesworth in my grasp, you will be a valuable tool. He won't sit by and watch you suffer, not the one he thinks so highly of," von Stalhein said, his voice cold and smooth.

"You'll never break him," Hebblethwaite replied, his voice shaking a little from his close encounter with death.

"Oh, I will, and he will tell me everything. My interrogators are highly skilled, they never let a man loose consciousness. He will break when he can no longer stand your screams." Von Stalhein's voice was as smooth as silk, and as cool. "I will have his secrets, and yours, before I am finished with you. Think about it."

Hogan felt like shaking himself. He had faced the prospect of torture and stood firm, but if any of his friends were made to suffer while he watched helplessly on, would he have the strength to hold out? He didn't know. He peered through the spy hole and watched von Stalhein leave, lock the door behind him and exchange a few words with the guard. Hebblethwaite was safe, for now.

Hogan waited until von Stalhein had left and the guard settled himself back on his chair, then slipped back down the tunnel.

"What happened, Colonel?" Lebeau asked when he reached the radio room.

Hogan was more shaken by the encounter than he would admit to anyone. "Hebblethwaite and von Stalhein had a bit of a discussion," he said, "von Stalhein roughed him up a bit, but he's still okay. We need to make sure that tonight comes off smoothly, otherwise…" he didn't want to finish.

"It will work, _mon Colonel_," Lebeau said firmly. "For an Englishman Bigglesworth seems to have his head on straight, and Kestrel as well."

"Let's hope so."

* * *

"And rest assured, in spite of today's mishap, Stalag 13 will soon once again be the most escape proof POW camp in all of the Third Reich," Klink announced grandly.

The incident was, of course, referred to the melodramatic dive Aircraftman Phillips took off the roof of Barracks 14 earlier in the day to provide a distraction for Kestrel's quiet departure from the camp and Bigglesworth's insertion into the ranks of the guards. Since no hue and cry had been raised, Hogan assumed that both had successfully slipped away and were now waiting for the next stage of the plan.

Hogan eyed von Stalhein who stood on the porch of the Kommandantur behind Klink, his eyes skimming over the compound. He looked as though he had just bitten into a lemon when he expected an orange. Hogan couldn't help but glare at the man who, mere hours before, had beaten and threatened to torture and kill a helpless prisoner. They had pulled the wool over his eyes thus far, and with any luck, he would be out of the camp and out of their lives by morning.

Once the count had been completed, they were dismissed from formation and headed quickly back into the Barracks to prepare for the night's work.

* * *

The four man patrol marched confidently through the dark, forested hills surrounding the POW camp Stalag 13, on the look out for people getting in and prisoners trying to get out. They were firm in their resolve, as was their leader, a tall man with dark hair in a Leutnant's uniform. They were also not in the least bit German.

"Halt! Who goes there?" a voice rang out from the shadowed trees.

Hogan stopped his crew. They had been half expecting an encounter with another patrol and were well prepared. That did not, however, stop them from breathing a sigh of relief when it was Schultz who emerged from the trees with Wolfgang on a lead.

"What are you doing here, this is my section… Oooh, sorry Leutnant, I didn't realise, I thought… I was… assigned… Colonel Hogan!" His eyes went wide and his pitch increased by at least an octave as he recognised the officer he had confronted. "Colonel Hogan, what are you doing out of your barracks? What are you doing out of the camp?"

"Relax, Schultz, we're not escaping if that's what you're worried about," Hogan said and waved Carter, Lebeau and Newkirk onwards.

"But you're in a German uniform; Carter is in a German uniform… Newkirk! Lebeau!" Schultz spluttered as they went by. "You shouldn't be in German uniforms; you aren't in the German army. There's going to be SUCH trouble over this."

"There's only going to be trouble is you go shooting you mouth off to Klink. Don't worry, we'll be back in time for morning roll call," Hogan reassured him. "You won't have even known that we were gone."

"But you are here, now, outside the camp, wearing those clothes. What kind of monkey business are you up to?"

"Well, you know that RAF pilot in the Cooler?"

"Ja. What about him?"

"There are two British agents who have plans to get him out, and we're going to help them by-" Hogan started.

Schultz cut him off. "I don't want to know," he stated firmly, "I don't see anything, I don't hear anything, I don't know anything!"

"Whatever you say, Schultz," Hogan agreed placidly.

"Just make sure you are back in camp by morning roll call, and in your proper uniforms."

"We'll see what we can do," Hogan promised.

"Now, I go that way and I have not laid eyes on you," Schultz said and headed off parallel to the fence, his eyes fixed resolutely in front of him.

Hogan shook his head with a quite chuckle and followed his men. They were waiting for him by the road. A truck had been left there for their use.

"Good old Schultz," Newkirk commented, "You can always count on him to know exactly where not to look."

Hogan checked the time by the truck head lights. The last vestiges of twilight were fading away and night closing in fast. "Let's get going. Kinch will be placing the call through to von Stalhein in about 15 minutes, and we still have to get to Wartmannswroth."

For an abandoned farm, the place looked surprisingly warm and inviting. There was even a cow in the yard next to barn, light coming from the windows of the house and smoke curling up from the chimney into the still night air. There was no electricity, but lamps had been set up in the yard and by the door of the house.

Bigglesworth was waiting for them and stepped out of the shadows as Hogan pause at the entry to the farm yard and flashed the truck headlights three times. Hogan drove the truck in once Bigglesworth had opened the doors, then jumped down to shake hands with the Squadron Leader.

"You made it alright, then," Hogan said, observing that Bigglesworth was back in his RAF uniform- artfully smeared with dirt.

"Not a problem," Bigglesworth said, "Clare is inside with three underground agents going over the final details."

"Good. Kinch placed the call about five minutes ago, so we can expect von Stalhein to turn up in 20. Newkirk, go get geared up," Hogan said.

"Right you are, sir," Newkirk said and headed for the house where his disguise was hopefully waiting.

"I'll be inside with Newkirk and Clare," Bigglesworth said, "I'll leave the disposition of the outside squad to you."

"You can count on me," Hogan promised.

"Just remember, try not to speak while von Stalhein is around, he'll recognise your voice in an instant, even if you try to disguise it," Bigglesworth issued a final warning. "And if you have to speak to any soldiers he brings with him, speak German."

Hogan nodded, he understood very well what was at stake. Bigglesworth accepted the gesture and headed back inside. Two of the underground agents, men he recognised from previous encounters, joined them a few moments later while Hogan was scanning the yard for best positions and cover.

"Papa Bear," one of the agents greeted him, "It's good to work with you again."

"You too. Did Kestrel bring you up to speed on the operation."

"Yes, we know what we are to do."

"Excellent." Hogan scanned the yard again. It was a perfect spot for an ambush with hidden sniper points and plenty of cover. So long as they could cover all angles of attack and cut off any retreat by the enemy, they would be in an unassailable position. "Lebeau, Carter, take up position on this side of the yard, you two, on the other. Keep the soldiers pinned down in the middle, but try not to hit the vehicle, with any luck Hebblethwaite will be in it and I don't want to risk Kestrel's claws if we damage him. We've got about 15 minutes to wait if my guess is correct, so get yourself into position and don't fire until I do. Understood?"

His team all nodded.

"Very good, lets get in place and hope that we can pull this off without too much blood shed."

* * *

**Authors note**: Wartmannswroth is actually a village a few miles from Hammelburg- I didn't make it up! As I noticed when I was in Germany, everything is so close together, for an Australian it was a bit of a shock.

*The reference is from "Biggles and Co.". Set before WW2, the crew was tasked with ferrying gold shipments to and from between banks in the UK and France, which had previously gone missing on route. One thing led to another and the crew ended up in Germany, and Hebblethwaite ended up in front of von Stalhein's firing squad! That was the first meeting between Hebblethwaite and von Stalhein, a precursor to what was to come.


	17. Chapter 17 Springing the Trap

_Apologies for the length of time this has taken to get here, family visits and huge amounts of work have been getting in the way._

_**Chapter 17- Springing the Trap**_

Hogan scanned the yard and gave a small, satisfied smile when he spotted a perfect position. A window opened into the shadows at the corner of the house behind a pile of firewood. He would be able to see the yard and into the house at the same time and have plenty of cover if it came down to a fire fight. He took up position and checked his lines of sight. Perfect.

The main room of the house was in full view through the window and so long as he didn't get close enough to be caught in the light from inside, he would be almost invisible. He could see Newkirk kitted up in his old-man outfit and with Kestrel dressed in her disguise they made a very convincing pair of elderly farmers. Bigglesworth was already seated on the floor, back to one of the ancient wooden uprights holding up the second floor of the farm house. He had wrapped a convincingly bloody bandage around his head and another bandage wrapped his right leg from ankle to knee. With a bit of Kestrel's make up he looked like he had come down hard in a patch of gorse hiding a rocky ditch. Newkirk said something to Kestrel who pulled out a handgun from under her apron and checked the magazine before putting it away and nodding.

The thought of having one of his men in a situation where Hogan himself had little control was not comfortable. True, Newkirk was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but Kestrel, Bigglesworth and von Stalhein himself were all unknown factors. To say that he was happy with the situation would be far from accurate. However this was not his show, and Bigglesworth and Kestrel had been right. Von Stalhein was clever, too clever, and the only way to protect Hogan's crew was to keep his sight firmly on Bigglesworth, the known enemy.

Hogan was satisfied that the people in the house were as ready as they could be. He turned to the darkened yard. "Is everyone in position?" he called out.

There were affirmative calls and a couple of brief flares from flashlights, but other than that it looked like a perfectly ordinary, safe farm yard. The shadows were deep and the covered was excellent, and there were plenty of protected escape routes for the men in the yard if things went wrong. There couldn't be a better place for an ambush if he had designed it himself. He'd like a bit of heavy artillery as backup, but that wasn't going to happen. He settled down and waited, falling into an alert trance, every sense stretched for the first hint that their prey was walking into their trap, every muscle relaxed, but ready for action.

How many nights had he spent like this over the last couple of years? More than he cared to remember. Nights spent blending into the darkness, waiting patiently for just the right time to strike, watching patrols walk by no more than a few metres from his hiding place, knowing that at any moment one of them could spot him and that would be the end of it all. It was exhilarating and terrifying in equal quantities and sometimes he felt like he really needed his head read.

He stared into the darkness, waiting. Dim light from the moon came and went as broken cloud covered and exposed its face, making the shadows seem darker and tricking the eye into seeing movement where there was none. A night bird called and Hogan jumped a little, his eyes automatically scanning the trees beyond the farm yard for the source of the noise. He knew in his mind he wouldn't see anything, but his instincts made him react anyway.

What seemed like both a few seconds and a life time passed before the sound of vehicles reached his ears and lights appeared, bouncing up and down as they came up the bumpy farm track. Hogan crouched, his gun in his hand, ready and waiting. A glance into the house showed Kestrel and the men had also heard and were ready.

A single staff car pulled into the yard, the head lights illuminating the house. Hogan frowned. A single car? That didn't seem logical. Von Stalhein got out of the front of the car and two soldiers out of the back. Hogan could also see a driver in the front of the car.

"You, stay here," von Stalhein snapped at the driver, "You two, come with me."

Hogan scowled, there was something definitely wrong here.

Von Stalhein strode up to the house and knocked on the door. It was Newkirk who answered it.

"Ja?" he asked, his voice old and shaking.

"We're here for the prisoner," von Stalhein said in German.

"What did you say?" Newkirk replied, also in German, holding a hand to his ear.

"The prisoner, the Englishman, where is he?"

"Huh? Can you speak a little louder?"

Hogan shook his head and resisted he urge to thump his head against the wall. How many times had he lectured them against over acting?

"Where is the Englishman!?" von Stalhein roared.

"No need to shout, sir, I can hear perfectly well. Now, what did you say about our sheep dog?"

"Not sheep dog, the English prisoner!" von Stalhein bellowed, his face taking on an interesting shade of puce.

"What is all the noise?" Kestrel asked, pushing Newkirk aside. She looked von Stalhein up and down for a moment before comprehension dawned in her eyes. "Oh, Captain, I'm sorry, my husband is very deaf, the silly old man. You must be here for the English pilot."

"That's right, madam," von Stalhein said, his face fading from bright red as he spoke to someone who seemed to understand what he was on about. "I was informed that you found him not far from here, injured and alone."

"Thank goodness, I hate to think what a man like that could do if he were allowed to run around the countryside. If my husband here hadn't tripped over him, he'd still be on the loose," Kestrel prattled on. She stepped aside and let von Stalhein and the two soldiers in. "You can't trust the English, they are sly, underhanded brutes, they can't speak any civilised language and their music! It's enough to make me wish I was as deaf as Klaus here. Right this way, sir, we tied him up just in case. I know he's hurt, and we did our best to help, but neither of us is young any more. Oh I can't bear to think what could have happened if my dear old fool hadn't found him."

_She's just as bad as Newkirk_, Hogan thought as he sidled up to the window and cautiously peered through. Von Stalhein was standing over Bigglesworth who was, to all appearances, tied to the pillar against which he sat.

"Major Bigglesworth," von Stalhein purred. "You've been keeping me waiting, that is very rude."

"I didn't know we had an appointment," Bigglesworth replied scornfully, appearing to struggle with the rope binding hands behind his back.

"You don't know what pleasure it gives me to have you here at last," von Stalhein said, savouring the moment. "It has always been a source of irritation to me that every time I get one of you, the other is there to- how do the Americans say it, bust you out? This time I have both of you and there is no escape."

"What are your intentions, von Stalhein?"

"I will have you taken to Berlin where you and I will discuss some points of interest, then you will be tried for espionage and shot so that all Germany may see what happens to the enemies of the Third Reich. We may even send photos to the Times, I'm sure your death will be front page news."

"A public execution?" Bigglesworth inquired, "An honour indeed. What about Ginger?"

"Your young friend will be at your side up until the very end. You can even share the same firing squad." Von Stalhein pulled a silver cigarette case from his pocket and fitted one into a short amber holder, totally relaxed and in control.

"Ginger is no spy!" Bigglesworth protested. "He was captured in uniform, you have no right to shoot him."

"He was obviously here for some kind of clandestine operation, even if I haven't got the details out of him yet," von Stalhein said, lighting the cigarette and taking a deep, luxurious breath. "I will, given enough time."

"If you've hurt him, I'll..."

"You'll what?" von Stalhein sneered, "You're in no position to make threats. You can't save him, you can't even save yourself. I am a little disappointed that my trap at the camp proved to be unnecessary, but that is war."

"You set this all up," Bigglesworth said, as though the thought had just occurred to him, "The information leak, the damage to the camp, everything."

"Yes," von Stalhein said, a smug smile on his face. "Almost. I can't take credit for the damage to the camp, that was providence, but I did take advantage of it. I must say that you took your time in getting here, I expected you to drop everything and come dashing here the moment your heard the news."

"Who says I didn't?" Bigglesworth said, and lunged forward, tackling von Stalhein at the knees and bringing him crashing to the floor. At the same time Newkirk and Kestrel, who had slid unnoticed around behind the two soldiers, pulled their guns and held them against the soldiers' heads. Within seconds all three German soldiers were immobilised.

"Drop your weapons," Kestrel ordered.

"Do it," von Stalhein reinforced the order from his position flat on his back on the floor. Bigglesworth knelt over him with a gun held point blank at his forehead and von Stalhein never took his eyes of his erstwhile captive. Two rifles clattered to the floor.

"Now," Bigglesworth said as he climbed to his feet, never taking his eyes or his gun off his captive, "I am in a position to make threats, and you would be wise to take them seriously."

"You're in the middle of Germany, how do you think you are going to get away with this?"

"I have my contacts; we'll be out of here before day break."

Von Stalhein didn't seem impressed. "Tell me something, Bigglesworth, why the charade? Why this play acting?"

"My dear fellow, after all this time and everything we've both been through I wasn't going to deny you your moment of triumph," Bigglesworth said. "However brief that moment might be."

"Oh the English," von Stalhein sneered, "And your stupid sense of fair play."

Only a few seconds had passed since the tables turned inside the house and everything was under control, so Hogan turned his attention to the car and its driver. One of the underground men was already there, pulling the man out of the car and thrusting him down onto the ground. Hogan dashed to the back of the car and pulled it open. It was empty. Hebblethwaite wasn't there.

Hogan grabbed Lebeau, he spoke softly so the soldier wouldn't hear the English words or the American accent. "Get Carter over here and you two keep him covered." He tapped the underground agent on the shoulder. "Come with me."

When the prisoner was secured, Hogan pulled a black bandanna around his face and his hat down to shadow his face and went into the house with his backup. The two soldiers inside the house were on their knees, and Bigglesworth was ordering von Stalhein up off the floor. Hogan indicated to the underground man to cover the German Captain and gestured to Bigglesworth to join him at the far side of the room.

"What's wrong?" Bigglesworth asked.

"Hebblethwaite isn't here," Hogan said quietly, "They came in a staff car, just von Stalhein and three soldiers, that's all."

"What? Ginger's not with them?" Bigglesworth demanded.

Hogan shook his head.

On the other side of the room von Stalhein started laughing. "Did you really think that I would bring Hebblethwaite here where the two of you could work together on your escape?" he asked. "Really, Bigglesworth, I evidently gave you more credit for intelligence than you deserve. Hebblethwaite is still at the prison camp, and my Leutnant has specific orders that only I can countermand in person. If I'm not back by dawn, he is to shoot the boy."

* * *

**Author's notes**: The amber cigarette holder is Biggles canon. Von Stalhein also had a monocle and a slight limp in the books, but I thought it was pushing things a bit far to include them in this story- after all, Klink is monocle man in HH.


	18. Chapter 18 A Spanner In The Works

_A/N: Kudos to Newkathy97 for instantly spotting the lines shamelessly lifted and adapted from the 1987 Scarlet Pimpernel in the previous chapter._

_**Chapter 18- A Spanner in the Works**_

Bigglesworth strode across the room, his gun pointed straight at von Stalhein's forehead, his face like a thundercloud. The German officer simply smirked at him.

"You can't afford to kill me, James," he mocked. "Not now that you know who else will die with me."

Kestrel crossed the room and laid her hand gently on Bigglesworth's rigid arm, distracting him from his serious contemplation of murder. Bigglesworth flinched at her touch, met her pained gaze and then lowered his weapon.

"Watch him," he snapped at Newkirk.

Von Stalhein gave a short, mocking laugh. Bigglesworth stiffened, but it was Kestrel who reacted, balling her fist and delivering a precisely placed right hook to his chin. Von Stalhein went down hard.

Bigglesworth raised an eye brow at her and she glowered back, daring him to say something. He shrugged and turned to look at Newkirk, silently reaffirming his previous order.

Newkirk nodded and took guard over their prisoners as Kestrel and Bigglesworth joined Hogan in the shadows on the other side of the room to confer out of ear shot.

"Now what do we do?" Kestrel asked.

"What are our options?" Bigglesworth threw the question out for discussion.

"Frontal assault won't work, we could always sneak him out through the tunnels," Hogan mused.

"That's going to draw attention to you," Bigglesworth said. "I've been given an order by London that your operation is not to be compromised under any circumstances."

"You know what you're saying, don't you?" Hogan asked.

Bigglesworth nodded, "If we can't come up with another way, Ginger will die."

"Could we force von Stalhein to give the order to release Hebblethwaite?" Hogan asked.

Bigglesworth shook his head. "I doubt it. Erich is not afraid of death, it is more likely that he'd agree to do it, but when we get there denounce us all, even if he had a gun to his head. It's safer to keep him out of the picture entirely."

"I hate fanatics," Hogan said, his voice tinged with disgust.

Kestrel's gaze was not on her two superiors, but flicking between von Stalhein and Bigglesworth. "Are you able to bring the lights down at the camp?" she asked Hogan. "And make it look like a normal outage?"

"Sure, the generator is so old and battered it breaks down all the time," Hogan said with a shrug. "Why?"

"Squadron Leader, you're the same size as von Stalhein, more or less," Kestrel said.

"It won't work, Clare," Bigglesworth said, "His Leutnant will know I'm not him."

"It will be dark when the generator goes down, and if you have your collar up and your hat pulled down, he's not going to be able to see much of your face," Kestrel said.

"You know, it could work," Hogan said, "If we make sure that the lights are out when you arrive, we could pull it off."

"You'll all be busy, but I can go in through your tunnel and arrange the power outage with Kinch," she said enthusiastically.

"Do you remember where it is?" Hogan asked.

"What kind of a spy would I be if I couldn't remember a simple thing like where the hidden entrance to a secret network of tunnels is?"

Bigglesworth frowned, but it was more an expression of concentration than disapproval. "We could drive in, get Ginger and just drive out again without ever implicating anyone at Stalag 13," he said. He nodded. "I'll play von Stalhein, we'll need someone to stand in for me."

"I can do that," Hogan said.

"You might be recognised."

"Not with a bandage around half my head as though I was injured when I jumped," Hogan said. "And it will be dark in the back of the car."

"What about the Leutnant?" Kestrel asked. "If we've got you standing in for Biggles, Biggles standing in for von Stalhein, not to mention two guards and a driver, it's going to get very crowded in the car when you add Ginger and another officer."

"Is there a truck available?" Bigglesworth asked.

"We can order one from the motor pool," Hogan said, "If we come in late at night and you give the order, Klink will probably just OK it without even getting out of bed. After all, he was told to help von Stalhein in any way possible."

"Then if we put Ginger in the truck with a couple of guards," Kestrel said, "Are your men willing to play German soldier for a night?"

"I don't see why not, they've done it before."

"Then shift a couple of your men from the car to the truck with the Leutnant and Ginger, once they get far enough out of camp they can over power the real Germans and get themselves and Ginger back to camp."

Hogan nodded, "The underground can take care of von Stalhein and the rest of them. I'd like to get von Stalhein out the way, to England. He's too dangerous to allow to run around free."

Bigglesworth nodded. "It would be best," he agreed. "I can take him with us when we go."

Hogan nodded, satisfied. "We've got our plan," Hogan said, "Get started here, I'll go and brief the others and send our helpers in to guard this lot."

Bigglesworth and Kestrel returned to where the prisoners sat against the wall. Hogan paused briefly in the doorway to make sure that everything was under control. Kestrel had drawn her gun and was covering the prisoners.

"Strip him," Bigglesworth instructed Newkirk, "I'm going to need his clothing if I'm to convince his Leutnant I am Hauptmann Erich von Stalhein."

"Is that your plan?" von Stalhein jeered, "You'll never succeed."

"Hope I do, because I will be issuing my own orders to those who will be staying here with you," Bigglesworth said coldly, "If they don't hear from me by noon tomorrow, they will do to you what you were going to do to my officer." He kept his gaze firmly on von Stalhein.

Von Stalhein blenched a little. "You wouldn't."

"Try me," Bigglesworth snarled back.

Hogan left as the German soldiers set about divesting themselves of their garments. Outside the remaining German soldier, the driver, was still under guard next to the car. Hogan left Carter and the two underground agents watching over their prisoner and pulled Lebeau to the side.

"Are you up to playing kraut tonight?" Hogan asked.

"What do you mean?" Lebeau asked.

"Bigglesworth and Kestrel have a crazy plan which might just work. You, Carter and Newkirk are going to stand in for the guards, I'm going to play Bigglesworth and Bigglesworth will be playing von Stalhein," Hogan said. "We're going to drive in to camp, get Hebblethwait out of the cooler, and drive out again."

Lebeau's eyes went wide at the explanation. "And Kestrel?" he asked in a slightly strangled voice.

"We'll be dropping her off outside the camp to go in through the tunnel to arrange with Kinch for the generator to break down," Hogan said. The more he explained it, the less probable it seemed, but it could work. Maybe. He wondered if Kestrel and Bigglesworth always worked like this. Their style seemed somehow familiar.

"Oh sure, and nothing can go wrong," Lebeau said pessimistically.

"Come on, where's your faith?" Hogan asked lightly.

"At home in bed, in Paris."

"Just get into that drivers uniform and stop your grousing."

A few minutes later Kestrel came out of the house with an RAF uniform over her arm. "Your wardrobe, sir," she said formally. "Do you want to change out here or in there?"

"I'll be with you a couple of minutes," Hogan promised. Not that he was shy, but now wasn't really the time to be flirting with a pretty girl, no matter how tempting.

"I'll wait for you inside," she said and returned into the house.

"She really is something," Lebeau said, whistling softly. "I know the underground girls are tough, but she's as cool as a cucumber."

"Not entirely, she punching von Stalhein in the face less than 15 minutes ago," Hogan said as he stripped off his black jacket and pulled on the blue RAF one, it was a little tight across the shoulders, but otherwise a good fit. "Not bad, get ready and get the motor running."

"What do we do with that one?" Lebeau asked, nodding at the driver.

"I'll take him inside with the others." Hogan drew his gun and covered the private while Lebeau stripped him of his equipment, great coat, jacket, and helmet. He waved to the two agents and quietly brought them up to speed on what was going on then motioned the German soldiers silently inside the house. The driver went without a word with Hogan and the agents close behind. Inside Hogan shoved him over into the corner where the two agents helped finish stripping von Stalhein and the other two soldiers and firmly tied them up.

"You will regret this, Bigglesworth," von Stalhein snarled as he was trussed in a most undignified fashion.

"I doubt it," Bigglesworth said. He was already dressed in von Stalhein's clothing and Kestrel had used a little of her make-up to draw a scar onto his cheek. Bigglesworth smoothed his hair down, placed von Stalhein's cap securely on his head, and drew himself into a stiff Teutonic posture. It was almost as scary as watching Carter transform into a German general.

The prisoners were herded into a small store room and the door firmly locked. Hogan breathed a sigh of relief. The sooner they were away from the too-clever intelligence officer the better.

"Good work," he said to the two agents, "Can you keep an eye on them until you hear from us?"

"Of course," one of them said, "And if we don't hear from you?"

Hogan looked across at Bigglesworth. "You look good enough to shoot," he commented.

"It's all in the attitude," Bigglesworth said, his accent taking on a distinct German cadence.

"Were you serious about shooting von Stalhein if things don't work out?"

"Not really," Bigglesworth said, "I would rather he answer for his crimes after the war than have to resort to murder."

Hogan understood completely. He generally felt the same, even if there had been times when desperate situations called for desperate actions. "Keep them here until tomorrow at noon," he instructed the two agents, "then if you haven't heard from me, chances are I won't be coming back, so get yourselves away as fast as you can."

"Understood, Papa Bear," the spokesperson said.

Kestrel touched Hogan's arm and held up a bandage. "I'll leave you one eye free," she said, "But I'll hide as much of your face as I can."

Hogan nodded and prepared himself for his partial transformation into a mummy. The bandage was firmly wound around his head and the left side of his head, as though he had suffered some kind of wound. When that was done she took out her make-up kit and applied some very realistic bruises to the other side of his face. There was a small glass over the fire place and when Hogan looked at her handy work in the mirror, he could hardly recognise himself.

"Nice," he said. "We should keep you around, you could come in handy when we next do a performance like this."

"Thanks but I have a previous booking."

"Are we ready?" Bigglesworth asked.

Hogan looked around at the cast of this little play. Newkirk was already kitted out in one of the liberated uniforms, and had the other one in his arms ready to take out to Carter. "All set," he said, "Let's get this show on the road.."


	19. Chapter 19 All Or Nothing

_A/N: Apologies for the time it has taken to update, life in general and work in particular has been very draining._

_**Chapter 19- All Or Nothing**_

Hogan watched Kestrel vanish into the woods. Once off the road she blended into the darkness and disappeared from sight. He couldn't help himself, he was nervous, they all were.

"She'll be fine," Bigglesworth said, "She's had all the training and more practical experience than I would wish on anyone."

"So I've gathered," Hogan said. The regard Bigglesworth had for her was evident in his fond tone. "She told me a bit about herself. Did you really have her arrested when you found out she was German?"

Bigglesworth gave a slight smile, "Yes, I thought she was a spy at first, but her story was verified and she'd become a very valuable agent. Although I do miss having her on the radio, a calm voice to talk you down when your undercarriage is gone is invaluable." He glanced at his watch, it was 1 am. "How much time are we giving her?"

"It should take about ten minutes to get to the tunnel," Hogan said, peering with some difficulty at his own watch with half his face covered with the bloody bandage, "She'll meet Kinch in the tunnel, then we'll give them twenty minutes to bring the generator down. We'll head in at 0130."

"Until then we sit here," Bigglesworth said.

"Let's just hope none of the patrols come along," Newkirk said.

"Then lets give them an excuse as to why we're sitting here," Hogan said, "Newkirk, go and take one of the wheels off, make it look like you're changing it. Carter, give him a hand."

Newkirk gave him a dirty look which lost a lot of its impact in the dark interior of the car. "When am I going to learn to keep my mouth shut?"

"Come on, Newkirk, it's not like it's a hard job," Carter said in his infernally optimistic manner as he almost leapt out of the car, Newkirk following him while muttering quite imprecations under his breath.

The precaution paid off as a few minutes later a patrol appeared on the road, heading straight for them, their rifles at the ready. Bigglesworth flipped up his collar and pulled down his cap while Hogan carefully arranged himself on the floor of the car, his hands held behind his back as though bound.

"What are you doing here? Identify yourself!" the young Leutnant in charge of the patrol commanded, shining his torch at the car, bringing Newkirk, Carter and the detached wheel into full light.

Bigglesworth climbed out of the car, "What's the meaning of this?" he demanded harshly, "Get that light out of my face!"

"My apologies, Herr Hauptmann," the Leutnant said, modifying his tone very quickly and swinging the light down onto the ground. "I didn't recognise you."

"We're on our way back to Stalag 13," Bigglesworth said, his voice a near perfect imitation of the German captain's tone and cadence. "You can pull your patrols in from the woods, we have our prize."

"The spy is captured? Well done, sir."

"Return to the camp and alert Leutnant Hoffmann, tell him that we have our prisoner and that we are leaving at once and require the use of a truck," Bigglesworth ordered, "I'll be along as soon as I can to verify the order."

"Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann," the Leutnant said, then saluted and headed back down with his patrol.

Bigglesworth climbed back into the car and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a very good thing that they had managed to get the name of von Stalhein's second before leaving him back at the farm house, otherwise there could have been a rather awkward moment or two.

"Good idea," Hogan said, sitting up, "Pulling the patrols in, it will make things easier later."

"When opportunities present themselves, why not?" Bigglesworth replied. "How long will it take them to get back to camp?"

"About ten minutes," Hogan said.

"We'll give them fifteen minutes before we head off then," Bigglesworth said, "That should give the Leutnant time to pass on the order before we arrive."

"It should also be the last patrol. Newkirk, get the wheel back on."

"About ruddy time, too."

* * *

The camp was in darkness when the car pulled up at the gates. Guards at the gate had torches ready and the tower guards were on full alert, scanning the moon lit night for any sign of movement in the yard.

"Looks like Kestrel and Kinch came through," Hogan said as he looked with approval at the darkened camp, then slid down onto the floor into his helpless prisoner pose.

The gate guard came up to the car and shone his torch into it. Bigglesworth shielded his eyes from the glare, and consequently hiding his face. "Put that damned thing down," he ordered harshly.

"Hauptmann von Stalhein, I am sorry," the guard said, lowering the torch a little. His eyes widened as the beam fell on the bound and bandaged figure on the floor of the car.

"Don't be sorry, just get out of my way and get the gate open," Bigglesworth ordered in fluent Prussian German.

"Yes, sir!"

"So far so good," Bigglesworth said softly to Hogan as the car trundled slowly across the compound towards the cooler.

"So far is as far as we've got," Bigglesworth said, "There are still a dozen things which can go wrong."

"Are you nervous?" Hogan asked lightly, trying to defuse the tension in the vehicle a little. A few nerves were good, it kept them sharp, but too many could spoil a mission as delicate as this one.

"Aren't you?" Bigglesworth returned. "I'm always nervous going into situations like this. Anyone who isn't is a fool or too stupid to be afraid."

Hogan didn't answer, but agreed with him.

The headlights of the car illuminated the squat concrete cooler, a man in a Leutnants uniform pacing beside it. As the car pulled up beside a large half-dressed figure hurried over from the NCO barracks, trying to pull his boots and great coat on at the same time and having a great deal of difficulty.

"There's the Leutnant von Stalhein was talking about," Newkirk said out of the corner of his mouth as the headlight lit up the officer, "He's the one you're going to have to fool."

"And the sergeant?" Bigglesworth asked just as quietly.

"That's Schultz, you don't have to worry about him too much."

"That's a relief I suppose."

Hoffman came over as the staff car pulled up and peered into the darkness of the car. With his collar up and cap down, it wasn't easy to make out the features of the man sitting in the back seat of the saluted crisply. "Hauptmann von Stahlein, Leutnant Weiss has informed me of your success. Well done, sir." He was still trying to get a good look at the people in the car.

"Thank you, Hoffman. Get the prisoner ready, we're returning to Berlin at once," Bigglesworth said, in perfect imitation of von Stalhein's tones. Hoffman didn't move. "Didn't you hear me, Hoffman, get the prisoner."

Hoffmann still hadn't made any move toward the cooler. "Sir, the security code. Your orders were that the prisoner was only to be released on provision of the security code." His hand dropped to his holstered side-arm.

On the floor, Hogan started sweating in defiance of the chilly night. Von Stalhein hadn't said anything about a security code. They were dead, there were no two ways about, they were all going to be shot. He surreptitiously sent his fingers questing under his uniform jacket for the gun tucked into the waistband at the back of his trousers.

Before anything drastic happened, Schultz finally made it to the car and gave a sharp salute, "Hauptmann von Stalhein, congratulations on your capture," he said roundly. "Shall I prepare a cell for the spy?"

"No, sergeant," Bigglesworth said and climbed out of the car, "I'm taking both the prisoners back to Berlin tonight. I require the use of a truck to transport the prisoners and my men."

Hogan didn't relax, the danger had been postponed momentarily, but Hoffman was still there, watching suspiciously.

"Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann," Schultz said, "But I require authorisation from Kommandant Klink before I can release a truck to you."

"Here is your chance," Bigglesworth said, nodding at the figure bustling towards them, slightly hunched and scurrying like a chicken in a hurry.

Klink had thrown on his cap and uniform jacket, but was otherwise clad in his long night-gown. "Hauptmann von Stalhein, I trust your venture has met with success?" he asked jovially.

"It has indeed, Herr Kommandant, as you see. Why are the lights not working?"

"The generator is old," Klink said, waving a dismissive hand, "It happens all the time."

It certainly did, Hogan made sure of that.

"We'll have it back up and running in no time." Klink peered into gloom inside the car where the light from the moon did not penetrate. All he could make out was the RAF clad body on the floor. The white of the bandage was stark in the dim interior. "Does the prisoner require medical attention?" he asked.

"He will get all the medical attention he needs in Berlin," Bigglesworth said with a harsh, merciless laugh. "And he will need it once I am done with him."

"Well, until you return, I can assure you that he will be safe in my prison camp. After all, no one has ever escaped from Stalag 13, my record is very clear on that. Schultz, go prepare a cell for the prisoner," Klink burbled. "Hauptmann von Stalhein, would you care to come over to my office for night-cap to celebrate the success of your mission?"

"I'm afraid not, Kommandant, I will be returning to Berlin with the prisoners at once, to a more secure prison. This dog has a habit of walking out of any prison he's put in, and I wish to have him under close guard as soon as possible. I require the use of a truck."

"A truck? Why?"

"It will be rather crowded in my car with two prisoner, four guards and Leutnant Hoffman," Bigglesworth said, "And the truck will be returned to you in a few days."

"If you insist," Klink said. "Schultz, go get a truck from the motor pool."

"Yes, Herr Kommandant," Schultz said and barked an order at one of the cooler sentries who promptly hurried off on his task, the light from his torch tracing his path across the compound.

Klink looked around, "Where is the other prisoner?"

"Leutnant Hoffmann was on his way to fetch him," Bigglesworth said, "I was about to provide him with the security code to release the prisoner."

"What code?" Klink asked, "Oh yes, you said that in order to prevent anyone else from taking your place you would require a security code. Now what was it again...," Klink mused, "Something about the place where you first learned to fly."

"Exactly," Bigglesworth said. "Well, Hoffmann, you have your security code, it is 'Leipzig', now go and get the prisoner."

Hoffmann saluted and turned sharply towards the cooler.

Hogan breathed a heart felt sigh of relief. Maybe they weren't dead after all. Thank God Klink was an idiot and couldn't keep a secret to save his own life, and that Bigglesworth knew as much about von Stalhein as von Stalhein knew about him.

There was a roar and then squeal of breaks as a truck pulled up beside the cooler.

"Corporal, get the prisoner into the truck," Bigglesworth ordered Newkirk.

"Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann," Newkirk said and opened the off-side door, pulling Hogan bodily out of the car. Lebeau came around to help him.

Hogan slumped in their grip, staggered with his head hanging as though only half-conscious. He glanced up momentarily to get his bearings and saw Schultz staring straight at Lebeau. Schultz's eyes widened with recognition, then flicked to Newkirk before turning resolutely away and silently mouthing his mantra. Hogan suppressed a triumphant grin, he would have to make sure their ally was well rewarded for his almost religious dedication to wilfull ignorance.

As the trio rounded the truck they came across Hoffmann and the last of von Stalhein's soldiers escorting their own prisoner. Hebblethwaite looked as battered as Hogan, but in his case the damage was not faked. The boy's face was deeply bruised and dried blood from a cut somewhere above his hairline stained his left cheek and neck. His eyes were glassy and despairing as he looked up long enough to take in the figure before him, a figure he evidently assumed was Bigglesworth. Hogan wished that he had the opportunity to reassure the young man, but to speak now would be to break the ruse too soon.

The two prisoners were pushed and hauled into the truck and pushed onto the rough wooden floor. Hogan listened as Bigglesworth gave his instructions and last communication with Klink.

"I must thank you for your cooperation in this mission, Colonel Klink," he said coolly, "Thanks to your assistance I have captured a dangerous enemy of the state. You can be assured that you will be honourably mentioned in my report."

"Oh it was nothing that any loyal German office wouldn't have done," Klink said, his false modesty almost sickening, "But a small mention of my part in this would be appreciated, shall we say."

"Indeed," Bigglesworth said. "Hoffman, you ride with the prisoners, you have charge of them until we get to Berlin. You two go with him. You, drive the truck, you drive my car." There was a click of heels. "Auf-wiedersehen, Colonel Klink. Heil Hitler."

"Heil Hitler!" Klink returned.

Step one, bring the lights down and get into camp, and step two, get Hebblethwaite out of the cooler were complete. Now all they needed to do was step three, get out of camp and step four, get rid of the Germans, and they were home free. So to speak.

Three figures climbed into the back of the truck. Hogan strained to see through the darkness and was relieved to recognise Lebeau and Newkirk as well as Hoffmann. With only one real German in the truck and three armed allies, they should have to trouble with the next two steps.

The truck bounced and lurched into motion. Close beside him Hebblethwaite moaned softly.

"Don't worry, it will be over soon," Hogan whispered, hoping the young pilot would hear him over the roar of the truck.

"I'm sorry, chief," he replied, his voice broken, "This is all my fault."

Hogan's heart went out to him, he wished he could comfort the young man, but he couldn't not quiet yet.

"No it isn't, and it we're not done yet."

Hebblethwaite's eyes opened wide as the unfamiliar accent and voice sank through his pain fogged mind. He stared at Hogan who grinned back at him, an expression completely wasted in the dark of the canopied truck.

"Just stay still and be ready," Hogan whispered.

"If you say so... Chief," Hebblethwaite said. He relaxed back onto the hard truck bed.

Hogan made sure that Hoffmann couldn't see what he was doing and slowly eased his hidden gun into his hand. Soon, very soon, it would be over.


	20. Chapter 20 Breaking Free

_A/N: Mild swearing ahead._

_**Chapter 20- Breaking Free**_

Hogan leaned back against the cab, bracing himself against every bump in the road. Beside him 'Ginger' Hebblethwaite lay on the rough boards of the truck bed, the chains on his wrists rattled a little as he occasionally shifted uneasily, trying to find a more comfortable position. It wasn't easy when every bump jolted a bruise or abused muscle, but the young man was too exhausted to really care.

Hogan hoped they would arrive at their destination soon; he was tired of playing this role and wanted the charade over. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the truck ground to a halt.

Near the tailgate the only real German in the vehicle stiffened and peered out into the night. The pale light from the moon shone onto his face, highlighting his puzzled frown. In the dark interior of the covered truck Hogan drew his gun.

"What's going on?" Hoffmann demanded. He turned sharply to Newkirk, "You, go and see what the problem is."

"No problem… sir," Newkirk said, his lyrical Cockney accent flattened into something which could have come from anywhere. He levelled his rifle at Hoffman. Beside him Lebeau followed suit.

"What do you think you are doing, Corporal?" Hoffman snarled.

"He's following orders," a voice came from the back of the truck.

Bigglesworth came into view, herding the only other real German soldier ahead of him, his gun pressed against the back of the unfortunate man's head. Behind him Carter backed him up, shining his torch straight at Hoffmann, blinding him with the glare.

Hoffman lunged, not towards any of his armed assailants, but deeper into the shadows of the truck. He kicked out at Hogan, catching him in the side and sending him sprawling and his gun skittering across the wooden floor. The way clear, he snatched up Hebblethwaite by the collar and hauled him to his knees, pressing his own gun against the young pilot's temple. Hoffmann put his back to the truck cab and glared at the rest of them.

"Get back," he commanded. "If you make one move, I will kill him, and if you think I won't, you are mistaken. If you kill me, he dies too."

_Stalemate_, Hogan thought, _at least that's what he thinks_.

Hoffmann hadn't factored in Hogan's presence, ignoring the supposedly restrained prisoner. His mistake. Hogan surged to his feet, grabbing hold of Hoffmann's gun and forcing it upwards as it went off. The bullet tore harmlessly through the canvas canopy as Hogan and Hoffmann wrestled for possession of the weapon and Hebblethwaite went limp, pulling himself out of Hoffman's grasp as he sagged to the floor.

For what seemed like an eternity Hogan and Hoffman were locked in a deadly embrace, each trying to point the gun at the other. Hoffman was physically stronger than Hogan and slowly gained the upper hand, bringing the barrel around to point at the American's head. Hogan pushed back, trying to force Hoffman to drop it when Hoffman froze, his face contorting into an expression of surprise and pain. Hogan stared at him without comprehension for several seconds before Hoffman emitted a tight, high pitched whimper and loosen his grip on both Hogan and the gun. Hogan wrenched it free as Hoffmann fell back and brought it to bear on the German Leutnant. Hoffmann, however, was in no position to pay attention to Hogan as he fell to his knees, moaning softly.

"Ooo, that's got to hurt," Newkirk said dispassionately. Lebeau and Carter were wincing and even the German soldier, being held at bay by Carter, looked pained.

Hogan glanced at him, and then scanned the truck trying to figure out what had turned the tables so abruptly.

Hebblethwaite was lying on his back at Hogan's feet, his foot poised for another kick. "I was aiming for his knee," he said, "But he moved and I well… missed."

"Well done, Ginger," Bigglesworth said as he climbed into the truck. He roughly frisked Hoffmann and found a small key, using it to unlock the cuffs still restraining Hebblethwaite. When he had freed the younger pilot he grabbed Hoffman by the collar and pulled him out of the truck, using the chains to bind Hoffman and the other soldier together. Hoffmann was not moving easily and leaned back against the truck when he was released.

Hebblethwaite was staring at Bigglesworth, taking in the scar and the smart German uniform. "Why am I not surprised?" he asked, his voice slurring a little, then fainted.

"Ginger!" Bigglesworth cried and scrambled back into the truck.

Hoffmann, taking advantage of the momentary distraction, grabbed the soldier by the wrist and made a shambling dash for the trees beside the rough forest track.

"Stop him!" Hogan shouted.

Newkirk, Carter and Lebeau brought their rifles around, but the two temporary prisoners had already reached the trees and were out of site.

"Damn it!" Hogan snarled.

"You want us to go after them?" Newkirk asked.

"No, it's too late and Hebblethwaite is our priority. They'll probably head for the farm to find von Stalhein. Lebeau, Newkirk, take the car and get to the farm before them, make sure that our underground friends get out of there." Hogan tore off the bandage which was still wound around his head. He didn't need a disguise any more and it was interfering with his vision.

"What about von Stalhein?" Lebeau asked.

Hogan turned the question back onto Bigglesworth. "Well?"

Bigglesworth was gently holding Ginger's inert form, checking him over for damage. "I'm tempted," he said, looking at his battered junior, "Very tempted." He silently contemplated the question, and then gave a tired sigh. "Just get the agents out of there. Von Stalhein will think we're long gone after Hoffmann reports, and nothing we've done will link you to this caper. He should have no reason to come back to Stalag 13. Let him go."

Hogan understood Bigglesworth's plight, he had felt it himself, particularly with a certain Gestapo major who was a serious thorn in his side. Bigglesworth wanted revenge for the trauma Hebblethwaite had suffered, but he was also loathed to kill a man in cold blood. Next time they met in battle, however, thing may go quite differently. Hogan nodded. "Just get them out of there," he instructed Lebeau, "Then get yourself home before dawn, the underground can look after the car."

Lebeau nodded and headed the car, Newkirk close behind.

"And don't take any unnecessary risks."

"Yes sir," Newkirk replied.

"What about me, Colonel?" Carter asked.

"You drive the truck. Get us as close as possible to the emergency tunnel, then take the truck out into the woods somewhere and dump it, then get yourself back to camp too. And don't get lost."

"Me? Get lost?" Carter asked indignantly, "I'll have you know I have a perfect sense of direction. Why, there was this one time, when I was out with my brother, we'd gone down to the river to go fishing, you see…"

"Carter, it's been a long day," Hogan said wearily, "Just drive the truck."

"Yes, sir," Carter said, not at all upset about his story being abruptly curtailed.

Hogan took Carter's torch and climbed into the back of the truck to join Bigglesworth. "How is he?" he asked.

"I think he'll be fine," Bigglesworth said, closing up Hebblethwaite's stained shirt. "It's mostly bruising and I don't think that any of his organs have been damaged, but if you have a doctor handy I wouldn't mind a second opinion."

"Our medic is pretty good," Hogan said. "We're going to have to keep you a couple of days until the heat is off before we can ship you out."

The truck jolted and the gears ground as Carter got them moving. Bigglesworth and Hogan braced themselves before they were thrown across the vehicle. Bigglesworth grimaced.

"I'll be glad when we're all safely back in England. I don't know how you do this, Hogan, I really don't."

"I have a good team," Hogan said. "Without them none of this would be possible." The truck jolted again as it went through a pot hole, "Even Carter."


	21. Chapter 21 Home Again

_**Chapter 21- Home Again**_

"I can make it!" Hebblethwaite objected when Hogan suggested using a sling to get the injured pilot down the ladder into the emergency tunnel.

Hogan raised a questioning eyebrow. The young man had regained his senses, but he was still very wobbly on his feet and had been half carried by Bigglesworth from where Carter had dropped them off, through the dark forest to the edge of camp.

"Ginger, you're hurt," Bigglesworth said in a tone of strained patience. "If you go falling down that ladder you'll just end up worse."

"I'm fine, I can make it!" he insisted again and tried to stand up from where they were crouching behind a carefully cultivated screen of vegetation, hidden from the guard towers. He made it half way to his feet before one knee gave out and he collapsed again. Bigglesworth caught him and lowered him back down gently and quietly.

"Stay still and do as you're told," Bigglesworth snapped at him, worry and irritation vying for supremacy in his tone. "Or you'll get us all killed or captured."

Hebblethwaite glared at him.

The spotlights were still down, and in response Klink had sent patrols out to walk the outside of the wire. Not close enough to be a problem for the three airmen, but the guards were nervously reactive and would likely shoot at the slightly unusual noise. Hogan had already heard a few shots off in the distance and didn't want to give the Germans any reason to spray this part of the forest with bullets.

"I'm overriding you," Hogan said. He didn't like pulling rank, but in this case it was the only way to curtail an argument. "I don't care that we're in different services, I still outrank both of you and you are going down in a sling- and that's an order. The guards out there aren't going to wait to identify what the noise is, they're going to shoot first and you're not in any condition to move quietly enough."

Bigglesworth nodded. "You heard the order, Ginger, you go down in a sling."

Hebblethwaite also looked like he was going to rebel again, but the resolute look on his superiors' faces made him back down. "Yes, sir," he said.

Hogan slithered across to a fallen tree and felt around in the decayed wood and leaf litter under it until his fingers met a solid wooden square. The cover to the hidey hole had been carefully disguised to hide it from even the most careful of searches. Within the hole was a long rope with a canvas loop at one end. He pulled it out and took it to where the other two were still crouched, watching him carefully.

"Hebblethwaite, put your arms through here," Hogan instructed, holding the sling out and helping the young man into it. "Bigglesworth, you remember how the tunnel works?"

Bigglesworth nodded.

"You go in first to help Ginger into tunnel. I'll stay here to deal with this end. Hebblethwaite, you'll need to use the ladder as much as you can, the sling is only there to make sure you don't fall if you pass out. When you're down and clear of the sling, give it three tugs, I'll pull it back and follow you down."

Hebblethwaite looked less put out when Hogan finished explaining the procedure. It wasn't that he was being treated as though he was helpless, just being given the support he needed.

"You've done this before?" Bigglesworth asked.

Hogan nodded, "Sometime our clients are incapacitated," he said. "And the tunnel's not the easiest thing to get a stretcher down. We're lucky this time that you're conscious, it'll make the whole thing faster and easier. Ready?"

Both Hebblethwaite and Bigglesworth nodded.

Hogan watched a patrol pass along the fence line below them, then indicated to Bigglesworth who helped Hebblethwaite to his feet and over to the tunnel entrance. It was a heroic effort on all their parts, but within a few minutes all three airmen were safely in the tunnel below and an intensely relieved young woman was exchanging a passionate kiss with Hebblethwaite as he sat on the floor, supported by one of the rough beams.

Kinch was standing to one side, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, watching with a small, enigmatic smile on his lips and a stretcher propped up beside him.

"Good job with the generator, Kinch," Hogan said.

"It was mostly Kestrel's doing. I think she has some anger issues. She found a collection of Carter's chemicals and made it look like the generator blew up, they'll need a new one before power is up and running again."

"What about the radio, is it working?" Hogan asked. He really didn't want to be without the radio for any length of time again.

"We've got a series of car batteries rigged up, it won't last forever, but long enough for the krauts to get a replacement generator."

Hogan clapped him on the shoulder and exchanged a nod with the quietly competent man. "One last thing, can you get Wilson and bring him to the guest room? Hebblethwaite needs to be checked over."

"Will do, Colonel," Kinch said. "Do you need a hand with the stretcher?"

"I think we can manage."

This time Hebblethwaite didn't object to being carried as he was sound asleep in Kestrel's arms. Exhaustion, relief and the sudden release of tension sending him firmly into the arms of Morpheus.

"How is he?" Hogan asked Kestel.

"Hurt, scared, exhausted," she replied. "He'll be fine, but…"

She didn't finish, she didn't need to. Hogan understood her unspoken concerns. Hebblethwaite would have nightmares about this for quite some time to come; there was no way to avoid it. He would have fears he would need to face before he could become an effective member of his squadron again. He was lucky, in a way, that he had such a strong support structure, and the compassionate glance that Bigglesworth had given Kestrel reassured Hogan that the older man, Hebblethwaite's mentor and father figure, knew what he would go through and be able to help him. Kestrel, too, knew and understood the trauma and would help him face the demons which would inevitably haunt him.

Kestrel eased Hebblethwaite onto the stretcher and Bigglesworth and Hogan picked it up, carrying it through the tunnels to the central hub and safety. Wilson was waiting for them, looking sleep tousled and a little grumpy, to take charge of his patient, whisking him into the small side room Kestrel had been using to do his examination and dress the young pilot's numerous injuries. Kestrel went with him to act as nurse.

Hogan's uniform was waiting for him and he was glad to change back into his familiar clothing, giving the now filthy RAF uniform back to Bigglesworth who also seemed relieved to divest himself of the Luftwaffe uniform.

"It's a bit worse for wear, I'm afraid," Hogan said, as Bigglesworth examined a new tear in one of the sleeves, "Newkirk can get that fixed for you."

"It was worth it. This can go into your store of disguises," Bigglesworth said, tossing the German great coat onto the table and then glanced at his watch. It was 4.30am. "What time is roll call?"

"5.30am," Hogan replied.

"Will your men get back in time?"

"I hope so, otherwise I might need a stand in or two."

"I'd be happy to oblige."

There was a faint clatter from the other end of the emergency tunnel and a few moments later Carter appeared, struggling out of the German coat.

"That's one," Hogan said. "Any trouble, Carter?"

"No sir," Carter said, "I left it on one of the forest roads towards Hammelburg, you know, the one which used to lead to that research place we blew up a few months back."

"Good job," Hogan congratulated him. "Get changed and head up stairs. Try to get a bit of sleep before roll call, it's been a long night for all of us, and at least someone should get some shut eye before we have to watch Klink blow his fuse."

Hogan was dozing at the map table, and Bigglesworth was stretched out on a bench when the footsteps sounded in the tunnel again almost an hour later and Newkirk and Lebeau turned up.

Hogan jerked awake as they came down the tunnel, weariness dragging at their feet. Hogan rubbed at his eyes. "I'm glad you're back, just in time for roll call. Any trouble?"

"Von Stalhein was making a hell of a racket when we got there," Newkirk said with a tired grin, "I think he was trying to break down the door. He seemed a bit put out about something."

"Our friends are safe?"

"Oui," Lebeau said, "A transport truck loaded with soldiers passed us heading towards the farm not long after we got onto the main road. We were driving without lights, so we had just enough time to get off the road and kill the engine before they noticed us. I think I recognised Hoffmann in the front."

"He didn't waste any time," Hogan said. A knot of worry formed in his stomach. He and Bigglesworth had done his best to ensure that there was no connection between the rescue and the prisoners of Stalag 13, but both Hoffmann and von Stalhein were wily characters and he fully expected to see them turn up with difficult questions.

"The underground agents dropped us off and took the car," Newkirk said, "They'll get rid of it somewhere far away."

"That's as good as we can hope for right now," Hogan said. "Get changed and get up stairs, it's almost time for roll call."

Newkirk sighed. "I hope old Rusty doesn't want to keep us hanging around out there forever, I could use about three weeks sleep after this little adventure."

"I can't promise three weeks," Hogan said with a small smile for his men, "But for the next week, no missions, no matter what."


	22. Chapter 22 Sweet Slumber

_**Chapter 22- Sweet Slumber**_

Klink walked along the line, scrutinising each of his prisoners carefully through his monocle. Each of them returned his suspicious gaze placidly, enduring the examination with the type of submissiveness brought on by sheer exhaustion.

"Hogan, your men are a mess," Klink said when he returned to where Hogan stood, stifling a yawn in the early morning light. "You're not much better," Klink added.

"What can you expect?" Hogan asked, stifling another yawn, "All that excitement last night, it was hard to sleep."

"What do you know about last night?" Klink immediately jumped on the opening.

"The generator exploding, then cars and trucks coming and going, not to mention the guards deciding to have a shooting competition in the middle of the night," Hogan said. "And all that after waking us up for a midnight bed check. Really, Kommandant, I've got half a mind to complain to the Red Cross, sleep deprivation is a recognised form of torture you know."

"I don't care about that right now, Hogan," Klink snapped. Behind Hogan, Carter yawned widely. A sly, smug grin stretched across Klink's lips as he noticed the young sergeant. "Hogan, three nights ago Sergeant Carter and Corporal Lebeau tried to escape. I put off their punishment until a certain delicate operation was over, now it is. Guard! Take Carter and Lebeau to the Cooler!"

Four guards hurried forward at the shouted command. Around them the prisoners stirred angrily, jolted out of their lassitude by a threat to their own. They quickly moved to block the guards' access to the two intended victims, protesting vehemently as they did so. The guards responded aggressively, roughly shoving aside the prisoners and making free with their rifle butts when men resisted. Carter and Lebeau were pulled out of the ranks and hauled bodily towards the solitary confinement block.

The prisoners' voices grew louder with rising indignation and anger as the pair was hustled out of sight. Tension had been building in the camp over the last week or so- long periods of confinement, harsh regimes and over crowding leading to stress and arguments. Klink had provided the catalyst and a riot was brewing. Hogan could see the guards at the edge of the compound and in the guard towers swing their rifles and machine guns towards to shifting crowd of prisoners. He needed to act before the crowd rose to fever pitch and he could no longer control them.

"Settle down!" Hogan shouted. There were some protests from some of the men, particularly those who were nursing bruises. "I said SETTLE DOWN! FALL IN!"

The men reluctantly fell back into their ranks, muttering darkly between themselves. Down the line McCray helped Barton to his feet and offered support while the young Australian swayed unsteadily. Barton sported a red mark on his temple, courtesy of a rifle butt, which would soon darken into a spectacular bruise. Hogan made a mental note to ask Wilson to check him for concussion and shock. Barton would learn, like any other newcomer, that provoking the guards was a bad idea.

Klink peered out from behind Sergeant Schultz who stood firmly in the middle of the yard, his eyes squeezed tight shut, a rock in the middle of a potential flood. Seeing it was safe, Klink emerged and straightened his cap and tucked his swagger cane more firmly under his arm.

Hogan stepped forward; a dozen guns instantly pointed straight at him. He kept his hands loose at his side, as unthreatening as possible. "Kommandant, I must protest," he said calmly, "Carter and Lebeau weren't tyring to escape, they weren't feeling well and just needed a but of fresh air."

Klink scoffed, "Hogan, if I had a mark for every one of the stories you have concocted, I would be able to retire a wealthy man. 30 days for Carter and Lebeau, and all privileges for the whole camp cancelled for the same period."

"That's harsh, Kommandant," Hogan said.

"Not another word, Hogan, or you'll join your men in the Cooler." Klink held up his hand as Hogan started to speak again, "And that's my final word. Your men are confined to barracks for the rest of the day. Dismissed."

"You heard the Kommandant," Schultz shouted, "Into the barracks, all of you! Raus! Back, back, back!"

Newkirk clucked back at him as Schultz squawked and flapped his hands at the retreating prisoners.

Klink threw Hogan a cocky salute, turned on his heel and headed to his office, a jaunty spring in his step. Hogan didn't bother to salute back but followed his men back into the barracks and slammed the door behind him in Schultz's face.

"That bloody Kraut is really getting on my nerves," Hogan snarled. He knew he was bone weary, his nerves stretched taut and his temper was frayed. Now was not the best time for anyone to look at him even marginally sideways.

"Look on the bright side, Colonel," Newkirk said from his bunk where he was already sprawled and half asleep, "At least they've got private rooms and plenty of time to catch up on their beauty sleep."

Hogan's rising ill temper was tripped by Newkirk's comment and he had to give a half hearted laugh at least. For a professed pessimist, Newkirk had a way of looking on the bright side of life.

"Get some sleep, Colonel," Kinch said, "I'll look after our guests, check on Andrew and Louis and get Wilson to take a look at Barton."

"Thanks, Kinch, I'd appreciate it," Hogan said. "If anyone needs me for anything," he announced to the population of Barracks 2, "I'm not here."

* * *

Something was cooking. The scent of bacon drifted under the door of Hogan's quarters and accelerated his climb back to wakefulness. His mind took a few moments to catch up with his stomach, but as soon as it did he tumbled off his bunk, pulled his jacket on over his rather rumpled shirt and bolted out into the main room of the Barracks.

All around the barracks men watched with quiet anticipation as someone who wasn't Lebeau worked at the stove, skilfully frying bacon. At the sound of footsteps, Kestrel turned around and grinned at him, her whole body bubbling over with good cheer. At that moment Hogan wanted very much to hate her.

"Good morning, Colonel," she said, "Since Lebeau is not here, I thought I'd make breakfast, I hope you don't mind me raiding your supplies."

"Not at all," Hogan said enthusiastically. "I thought you'd be with Hebbelthwaite."

"He's still asleep, and Biggles is with him," Kestrel said. "And I thought I owed you breakfast at the very least."

Hogan tore his hungry gaze away from the growing pile of bacon keeping warm on the side of the stove next to an equally well piled plate of fried eggs, he had business to attend to. "Kinch, have you checked on Carter and Lebeau?"

"They were both sound asleep when I looked in on them. I'll take them something to eat later, if there's anything left over after this hoard has been into it."

"I'll make sure there is," Kestrel promised.

"Barton?"

"I'm fine, sir," Barton's voice sounded from his bunk. He lifted his head up and Hogan noted that the red mark had darkened as predicted, covering almost half his face in black and purple glory. "Nothing broken, just a bit of a headache. Wilson wants me to stay awake for a while, just to make sure nothing's wrong. Thanks, Mac." The last comment was directed at McCray who handed him a damp rag which he pressed against the bruise. They seemed to have got over their argument about the correct way to eat porridge.

"Grab a plate, breakfast is ready!" Kestrel called.

There was a bit of a scrum until Kestrel called the thirteen hungry men to order and into line, dispensing bacon and eggs equally. Hogan had to admire her organisational skills and ability to bring a large group of men almost all of whom were both older and larger than her instantly under her thumb.

She must have noticed his expression. "Harvest time in the vineyard," she said, "My step-mother and I oversaw the feeding of more than 30 pickers, three full meals a day plus smoko."

"Smoko?"

"Tea break. A huge pot of tea and a mountain of scones," she explained. "Usually served from the back of a truck under the big red gum on the edge of the vineyard."

From his bunk Barton whimpered a little. "Stop it, you're making me homesick."

"Sorry," she said contritely. She also looked a little homesick.

"Schultz is coming!" the lookout called from the door. Kestrel instantly passed the spatula to Mills, the next in line and nipped into Hogan's office. Mills caught the spare apron someone else tossed to him and quickly tied it around his waste. A moment later the barracks door was flung open by Schultz, attracted by the scent of bacon that Mills was calmly serving to the line of prisoners as though he'd been doing to all the time.

"What is that wonderful smell?" he asked, almost dancing into the barracks on the wings of pleasure.

"Breakfast, Schultz," Newkirk explained, biting down on a piece of crisp bacon. It crunched most satisfactorily. "Since old Rusty confined us to barracks, we've had to organise our own food."

"But the cockroach is in the Cooler," Schultz said, peering around as though he expected to see Lebeau hiding behind someone, "Who is doing the cooking."

"It's not that hard to make bacon and eggs, Schultz," Hogan said, "Even Mills can do it."

Schultz examined Mills doubtfully. "You know you're not supposed to cook in the barracks," he said, "But I may be able to overlook it if…"

"Alright, Schultz, but do you promise to leave us alone for the rest of the day?" Hogan asked. "The way you keep on barging in here unannounced anyone would think you lived here."

Schultz chuckled, "That would only be possible if I were a prisoner too." He accepted the bacon and egg sandwich Mills made up for him and bit into it with a sigh of pleasure.

"Keep on fraternising with us and taking our food and Klink might just decide to make you one for real," Hogan said mildly as the big man chewed and swallowed.

Schultz blenched, looked down at the sandwich and then resolutely took another bite. "That is not going to happen if there is no evidence and I will make sure of that."

"You do that, Schultz, but do it else where, would you?" Hogan requested, steering the sergeant towards the door, "We have things we need to do."

Schultz chuckled again, "You're prisoners and you're confined to barracks, what could you possibly have to do?"

"You remember those RAF pilots who were taken out of camp last night?"

"Ja?"

"Well, they're both down in our secret tunnel system waiting to be moved out of Germany through our underground network to the coast where they will be picked up by a sub and taken back to England," Hogan explained with a perfectly straight face.

Schultz stared incredulously at him for a moment then burst out laughing. "Jolly joker! Secret tunnel system! Ha!"

He was still laughing as Hogan urged him out the door and closed it behind him. "It's safe to come out," he called to Kestrel.

"Is he really that stupid, or is it just an act?" she asked.

"If there is one thing you can rely on Schultz to do, it's to make sure he never sees or hears anything which could get him into trouble," Hogan replied, "He's a lot smarter than he makes himself out to be."

Breakfast was just about over when the lookout at the door turned sharply, his eyes wide and panicked. "Colonel, von Stalhein's just come back into camp!"


	23. Chapter 23- Unwelcome Guests

**_Chapter 23- Unwelcome Guests_**

"Kestrel, into the tunnel," Hogan snapped. He hurried her over to the bunk and banged on the side, raising the lower bunk. "Get Bigglesworth and Hebblethwaite ready, if you hear me stamp once then twice," he demonstrated the pattern on the edge of the bunk, "get yourselves out of here."

Kestrel nodded. "If they take any of you, I promise I'll find you and help."

Hogan didn't doubt her or her network- they had, after all, found Hebblethwaite in a very short period of time. "Thanks," he said.

Kestrel gave him a worried smiled and slid down into the tunnel, the bunk clattering closed behind her.

Hogan joined Mills at the door and watched as von Stalhein strode across the yard to the Kommandantur with Hoffmann at his heels. Von Stalhein was wearing what looked like a spare uniform which didn't fit him at all well and a look of incalculable fury on his face. He took the steps two at a time while Hoffmann followed a little more gingerly. Hogan waited for the eruption.

Sure enough the sound of shouting soon came from Klink's office, but he couldn't make out the words. What was to come next was pretty much a given.

Von Stalhein came back out of the Kommandantur with Klink scurrying along behind him and headed straight for Barracks 2.

"Heads up, everyone, we're about to have visitors," he announced.

The men immediately took up poses of innocent boredom at the table or on their bunks. Hogan joined Newkirk in a hurriedly arranged card game with Kinch and McCray.

Seconds later the barracks door banged open and Schultz and three guards came in with a loud, "Achtung!"

All around the barracks men quickly arranged themselves into what passed for parade order, lining up next to their bunks. Hogan stepped forward to meet von Stalhein as he strode in and scanned the assembled prisoners, his eye taking in everything.

"Captain von Stalhein," Hogan said, giving him a respectful salute, "We weren't expecting you, otherwise I would have put a fresh pot of coffee on."

"Silence, Hogan," von Stalhein snarled, "I didn't come here to trade quips with you." He slowly, deliberately walked down the line of prisoners, examining each one of them closely. He stopped in front of Newkirk. "Name, rank!" he barked.

"Corporal Peter Newkirk," Newkirk said, his accent changed from cockney to Liverpudlian scouse and spoken in a completely different key. "RAF."

Hogan struggled to keep his face straight.

Von Stalhein gazed suspiciously at him for a few seconds then moved on. He stopped at two others who had a similar build and colouring to Newkirk and asked them the same question. He was not happy with the outcome as he stalked back to where Hogan stood. "Where is Bigglesworth?" he demanded.

"Who?" Hogan asked with absolute innocence. "Kinch, do you know if any new prisoners called Bigglesworth have come in recently?"

"No, sir," Kinch said firmly.

"You know who I am talking about, Hogan, Major James Bigglesworth."

"This is a Luft stalag," Hogan said with a shrug, "If he's an officer he probably would have been sent to an Oflag."

Von Stalhein swung his arm so quickly Hogan didn't have a chance to dodge the back handed blow that caught him across the face and almost knocked him over. The guards levelled their rifles at the other prisoners before they could stir a step in defence of their CO.

"You helped Bigglesworth rescue Hebblethwaite last night," von Stalhein snarled, "Now where is he?"

Hogan straightened up and probed his jaw, von Stalhein had one hell of a back hand. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was here all last night, ask Kommandant Klink, there was a midnight bed check and he counted every one of my men."

Von Stalhein turned a baleful eye on Klink who took a step back. "It's true," Klink said, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice. "There was a full count last night and this morning at roll call."

"You're missing two," von Stalhein said, casting his eye back across the line of men.

"Lebeau and Carter are in the cooler," Klink said, "As punishment for attempted escape three nights ago."

"You can account for the locations of all your prisoners at all times?" von Stalhein demanded.

"I stand by my perfect record, no one has ever escaped from Stalag 13," Klink announced proudly. "I know exactly where each one of my prisoners is at any time of the day or night."

"There you go, Captain, we were all here. If you've lost your prisoner it wasn't our doing."

Von Stalhein turned back to Hogan and looked very much like he was going to repeat the previous exchange. Hogan stared back at him, meeting him eye to eye without flinching.

"It appears that you no longer have a perfect no-escape record, Kommandant," von Stalhein said, deliberately turning his back on Hogan.

"Uh-uh," Klink said, raising his finger imperiously then lowering it slowly when von Stalhein stared balefully at it. "Hebblethwaite was never entered into our records," Klink said with a lot less confidence, "He was never officially here, so he has not officially escaped from Stalag 13."

Von Stalhein grunted. "You have made an enemy of me, Hogan," he said without turning, "You may wish that you hadn't. I'll be keeping an eye on you and this camp in the future."

"Join the club," Hogan said, "There's a line at the door."

Von Stalhein stiffened, but didn't rise to the bait and stalked out of the barracks.

"That was unwise, Hogan," Klink said. "Von Stalhein is not a man I would wish to cross."

"I wouldn't worry too much," Hogan replied, "Hochstetter has first dibs and they'll have to fight it out first. If you start running now you may get to the Russian front before they catch up with you. Russia's a big place, I don't think you'd have too many problems loosing them in all that snow."

Klink gaped, fish-like at him for a moment before turning on his heel and following von Stalhein out. He paused at the door and gave Hogan a vicious glare. "You've caused a lot of trouble in the last few days, Hogan, you and your men are confined to barracks until further notice."

"I thought we already were," Hogan returned innocently.

"Dismissed!" Klink barked and slammed the door.

All around the barracks men sagged with relief. Hogan went to Newkirk who had sank down on Carter's bunk, he was trembling a little. Of all the people in last night's escapade, Newkirk had been the most exposed and von Stalhein had latched on far too quickly.

"Quick thinking, Newkirk."

"It was all I could come up with," Newkirk replied. "That was too ruddy close." He peered up at his commanding officer. "You're going to have a lovely bruise soon."

"We'll be a matching pair," Hogan quipped, indicating Newkirk's still blackened eye, a mark Kestrel had wisely covered up during their midnight jaunt. "Let's hope that's the end of it. Go down and reassure Kestrel and the others that we're safe for now."

"For now."


End file.
